A Little Help
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: When a robbery goes wrong, the thieves steal a car, accidentally taking a certain 8 yr. old hostage in the process. A worried Batman races to the rescue, not realizing that Dick has a few plans of his own. {The 4th in the Young Dick Grayson Series.} High T for Strong Language, Violence, & some mention of Drug Use. I wish I owned this. If I did, this would be canon.
1. Carjacked

**Part of the Young Dick Grayson Series. This story is places after "Bat-Wolf/Things Change", but before "The Legacy". I've listed these early stories of Dick/Robin's origins in chronological order on my profile that range from Dick's arrival at the manor and including his first year as Robin. Most are behind the scenes as Bruce and Dick adjust to life together, but we'll see more of Robin's training, catching Zucco, and a few of his first cases with the Batman.**

 **Dick is eight years old and this is happening approximately nine days before his first Christmas at the manor. This is how I imagined it to have happened.**

 **WARNING: STRONG Language . . . (Bad guys = Bad Language)**

* * *

Christmas wasn't very far away. This year was a bit of a challenge as Alfred had someone new to buy for, but it wasn't what to get their new addition that was the problem, but what to do with him while the shopping and other errands needed to be done.

Alfred sighed as he loaded several packages, wrapped in brown paper and string, into the trunk of the Bentley. Several of the gifts were to his family still in England: his aging mother, an aunt, a handful of cousins, and their offspring. He needed to mail the gifts today if he hoped to have them to arrive before the holidays. That meant taking young Master Richard with him, not that the boy was any trouble. He was, for the most part, obedient and polite. More obedient, truth be told, than a certain playboy billionaire had been at that age, Alfred snorted softly.

No, the young master wasn't the problem.

 _Anthony Zucco_ was the problem. The villain was still at large and, as such, the contract that the despicable creature had placed on the boy's head was still in effect. Taking Master Richard off of the estate was risky and the danger was real. Already, one intrepid, would-be assassin had managed to learn of the boy's whereabouts and taken advantage of an unknown chink in the wall that surrounded the estate to come after the boy. It was only sheer luck that a family wolf pack had chosen the grounds as its home and, when the two had stumbled into their den, the large, black male had attacked and killed the hitman. That it hadn't attacked Master Richard was astounding, but that it had allowed Master Bruce to retrieve the child was nothing short of miraculous.

But luck had the unfortunate tendency to run out eventually. The hitman hadn't chosen to share his information, keeping it to himself rather than invite potential rivals who might have claimed his prize ahead of him. But it was a risk every time Master Richard was exposed to public scrutiny. The paparazzi recognized most of Master Bruce's vehicles and had seen Alfred often enough to wonder at the presence of a small child. Once Master Richard was eventually spotted, and then connected to the famous billionaire, it would become a feeding frenzy; a media circus the likes of which the boy had never chanced to witness.

Indeed, several of the reporters were like sharks and, once they had smelled blood, would latch onto a story and worry it in their teeth for all they were worth . . . which, Alfred thought with a sniff, wasn't worth all that much.

But eight years old wasn't nearly old enough to remain in this huge old house alone while Alfred attended his errands. So, he chose the Bentley because of the privacy of its tinted windows. Master Richard could remain safely ensconced within the vehicle as Alfred went swiftly through his list of things he needed to accomplish. With some forethought and a little luck, no one would ever _see_ the boy to wonder who he was or how he might be connected to the Wayne name and fortune.

If only Master Bruce weren't busy with back-to-back, year-end meetings, but with several of his vice presidents and board directors planning to be out of town for the next few weeks, there were important decisions needing to be made concerning acquisitions and within the R&D department now. He simply could not get away long enough for Alfred to be able to complete all of his tasks.

Thus Master Richard was being buckled into his booster seat in the rear of the vehicle at ten thirty-five in the morning.

"What's that you have there, young sir?" Alfred eyed the colorful cube in the boy's hands.

Richard held up the cube for Alfred's inspection. It was covered in little squares of varying colors.

"It's called a Rubik's Cube, Alfred," Master Richard explained. "Uncle Jack . . . That's Mr. Haley, the circus owner . . . He gave it to me last summer. It's a puzzle. You can twist and turn the rows of the cube in different directions in order to line each side with a solid color."

"Indeed?" Alfred eyed the cube with renewed interest.

"You have to get all six sides a different color at the same time." Dick demonstrated how the cube moved.

"Fascinating," Alfred remarked, giving the seat belt a final tug to ensure it fit snugly. "You brought it to entertain yourself, I take it?"

He nodded. "I'm not that good at it yet. I can get two sides a solid color, but I hate messing them up to try to do the rest of the sides. Bob, one of the clowns, could do it though in just a few minutes. He made it look so easy, but . . ." Richard leaned over, speaking to the butler in a confidential manner, "it's not really."

Alfred felt his lips twitch. Only a few weeks ago, Master Richard refused to speak of his life in the circus. In truth, the boy barely spoke at all so grief-stricken was he at the death of his parents. The child he saw now, while Alfred suspected was still somewhat subdued, appeared a different creature altogether. He chatted easily now, was friendly, and smiled more often, especially after Master Bruce had arranged for a private tour of the zoo for him. Definitely, he was a social boy. But, Christmas was just around the bend and the butler feared what the holidays would do to the fragile happiness that they had worked so hard to cultivate.

Alfred climbed into the front seat, fastening his own seatbelt. "I will endeavor to complete my tasks post haste, young sir," he told him, looking at the boy through the rear view mirror. "Once we begin to cross the bridge into Gotham proper, I will need to raise the privacy window between us."

Richard tilted his head. "Why? I like talking to you."

"As I do you, Master Richard." Alfred nodded to acknowledge the compliment. "But, you must remember that you are in danger every time we leave the manor grounds. Only three people besides ourselves know of your whereabouts and we wish to keep it that way for a while longer."

The boy's expression grew serious. "So, _he_ won't find out."

"Exactly so, I'm afraid," Alfred admitted as he neared the front gate. "The less people that know where you are, the safer you will be."

Alfred watched the child swallow hard, but his eyes were harder, like blue shards.

"I'm not afraid of him, you know," Richard stated firmly. "I _want_ to meet him again. I want him to pay for what he did."

"It isn't only Mr. Zucco that we need to worry about, you realize." Alfred felt compelled to explain. "Master Wayne is quite the celebrity here in Gotham City . . ."

"Because he's so rich," Richard nodded sagely.

"There is that," the butler agreed, "but being so famous means that people notice when his vehicles are seen about town. They are curious as to what he is up to, you see, and for the reporters, this makes for a tidy bit of gossip for their society page. Should you be seen, the paparazzi would quite literally lose their wits in an effort to learn who and what you are to him. Speculations would run rampant and it would be all over the news. I fear that anyone looking for you would know exactly where to find you once that happened."

"What are speculations?"

"When one speculates, it simply means that one is guessing or making up theories without all the facts to back them. Unfortunately, in the gossip columns, society is far more interested in speculations than they are in the truth," Alfred told him.

Richard dropped his puzzle cube onto his lap and chewed his lip as he stared at the passing scenery.

"What concerns you, Master Richard?" Alfred asked the boy. "You don't need to worry about your safety while staying at the manor. You will be as safe as the crown jewels. Master Bruce would never allow anything to happen to you," he promised.

The boy shook his head, his expression far too serious to belong on the face of one so young. After a long moment, Richard turned his head and met Alfred's gaze in the rear view mirror.

"Will they find him, do you think?"

The butler didn't have to ask to know of whom Master Richard was speaking.

"Everyone is doing everything they can," he assured him.

Alfred turned his eyes back to the road, wishing he could do more to reassure the boy, but Master Bruce's secrets were his own. It wouldn't do to tell a child so young about them, especially since his time with them was still so uncertain. Master Bruce had already began enquiries into the process of making the boy's stay with them permanent; something over which the butler continued to have some reservations. In fact, the word 'forever' had even entered the conversation he had had with Master Bruce about the boy just the other day.

Alfred sighed. As fond as he was growing of the young sir, he was uncertain that such an action was truly in the child's best interest. Earlier this week, Master Richard had fought off a terrible cough and fever from being caught out in the freezing rain. Master Batman's patrol had been called off that first night, and the bruises he had sported at the end of the second night bespoke of a man distracted during times when he should not. He did not tell Master Bruce that the boy had spent part of the second evening asking for him. To do so would have only added guilt to Batman's otherwise overburdened shoulders and made him more reckless still.

As they neared the bridge, Alfred hit the switch to raise the privacy window between the front and rear seats. He touched the intercom.

"Master Richard," he spoke normally, the intercom's microphone was sensitive to pick up his voice easily. "If you look at the panel above your head, you will see a white button. Pushing that button will allow you to speak to me. Do you see it?"

A second later, the child's voice came through the speaker. "Like this? Can you hear me, Alfred?"

"Indeed, I can, young sir," he answered smoothly.

"Can you hear me?" Richard asked again. "Alfred?"

The butler's mouth twitched with amusement. Traffic was still light enough, so he lowered the window between them briefly.

"Master Richard, you only hold the button down when you are talking," he explained patiently. "You must release it if you wish to hear my reply."

Richard's finger jerked back off the button, blushing. "Whoops! Sorry, Alfred," he apologized. "I didn't know."

Alfred smiled reassuringly. "It's quite all right, young sir. No harm done. You are not the first to be confused by the equipment. Practically everyone must be shown the proper procedure at least once."

"Did Bruce?"

"Even Master Bruce . . ." Alfred lied smoothly.

The truth was that Master Bruce had grown up in the lap of luxury and had spent his entire early childhood observing his parents using the intercom, so by the time the boy had grown up enough to use it himself the first time, he was already an old pro – understanding the ins and outs of the car's back seat technology perfectly.

Alfred raised the darkened panel once more.

"Can you hear me now, Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir. I can. Can you hear me now?" The butler pulled out into traffic and onto the bridge that led into the city.

"I can! I did it right!" Richard's excited voice came over the speaker again.

"Indeed, you did. Very good, sir." Alfred praised him. "There is a cooler in the back of the panel in front of you should you get thirsty. I stocked it with water and chocolate milk earlier this morning. The controls to the radio are also above your head. Do you need instructions on how to use it?"

"No sir," Richard told him. "Thank you." *******************************

"It is my job, young sir," Alfred said.

"It was still nice of you," the boy insisted.

Alfred's lips twitched as he made his way to his first stop: the post office. If all went as planned, he and the boy would be back at the manor by lunch.

* * *

The woman pulled out of the parking spot just a few yards from the post office. It was nearer the entrance than the parking lot across the street, and Alfred preferred to keep the car and its passenger close by. He quickly turned on his blinker and expertly parallel-parked the Bentley in the vacancy.

Even better, he noticed, was that he was just a few yards from the bank as well, and the dry cleaners was across the street. He could check on the boy, and then proceed to the bank, pick up Master Bruce's dry cleaning, all while keeping the car within visual from the entrances to each establishment. He spoke into the intercom to inform the young master his plans.

"I'll be back to check on you before I go into the next place of business," he explained. He hesitated. "Do you feel at all uncomfortable with that, Master Richard? If so . . ."

Richard's voice came through the speaker. "It's fine, Alfred," the boy told him. "I'll be okay. I have some chocolate milk and my Rubik's Cube to keep me busy. You don't even have to come back to the car between your errands if you don't want to."

Alfred's eyebrow rose on that pronouncement. "I daresay that I do, young sir. Master Bruce would have my head, and rightly so, were I to be so careless with your wellbeing."

"I told you that you could have left me at the manor . . ." Richard reminded him.

"I do believe that we've already had that discussion," Alfred cut him off. "Very well, Master Richard. I will be back as quickly as I can. The post office will likely take the longest, what with this time of year. If I didn't have to have the packages weighed, I could have arranged to have them picked up," he muttered.

The butler was having second thoughts about leaving the boy unattended for the amount of time it would take him.

"I will lock the doors, but leave the vehicle running in order to keep the heat on for you," he announced. The boy was only just now getting over his illness. "Do not unlock the doors for anyone."

"Yes sir," Richard snapped out like a young soldier.

"Hm, very well then."

Alfred moved quickly once he had determined to carry out his plan. After all, he was already here, but he glanced around him a third time as he pulled out his many packages from the trunk. He didn't spot any reporters skulking about, nor did he notice any shady characters.

He was, in all probability, anticipating trouble where there was none.

 _Enough lollygagging about_ , he scolded himself as he closed the trunk. He locked the car with his remote and moved quickly in hopes of avoiding unnecessary time in the postal line.

* * *

Dick watched Alfred disappear into the post office and then turned back around in his seat. Although the manor was big and roomy, Dick hadn't really wanted to stay there alone for the couple of hours that it would have taken the butler to run his errands. Although he couldn't get out of the car itself, just being able to watch the people scurrying about their business was enough for him for now.

He was still feeling a little tired and weak after being sick, but Dick wasn't about to complain. Had either his guardian or the butler knew this about him, he would have missed his trip to the zoo the day before. As it was, Bruce had ended up carrying him back to the car where he had fallen asleep for the trip back. Dick hadn't even woken up when Bruce had carried him into the manor and up to his room for what turned into a three hour nap. Alfred had held dinner for him and everything.

He had felt a bit guilty at that, but Bruce hadn't appeared to mind in the least.

The privacy window between the seats wasn't completely opaque. Dick had been able to see the back of Alfred's head while he had been driving and pretty well the street beyond. It was like the back windows in that he could see out, but no one could see in. It was kind of fun being able to watch the people passing, but knowing that they couldn't see him in return.

Once or twice someone was curious enough to stare at the car, but they were apparently too busy to do more than glance at the fancy vehicle with its shady windows. He unhooked his seatbelt so that he could see the holiday decorations that adorned the storefronts and the streetlamps better; his toy forgotten momentarily.

Fifteen minutes later, Dick was growing bored. Alfred had yet to emerge from the post office, but Dick had watched as a dozen people had come and gone. He thought the line must be really long.

Sighing, He fiddled with the radio next. Christmas songs were on every station. Dick settled back in his seat and picked up his Rubik's Cube again. He was determined to get three sides this time. The only reason he noticed the car in front of them was because the dark blue sedan had parked in front of a fire hydrant. He frowned. He was only eight, and even Dick knew that you weren't supposed to block the little, stubby, red water-pipe.

Four men climbed out of the car and walked into the bank. He could just see the shape of the driver's head as he remained behind the wheel. At least if there was a fire, the driver was there to pull out of the way. Dick shrugged and turned his attention back to his cube. He would start with red, he decided. One of the colors of Christmas.

* * *

Dick's attention was caught when a patrol car slowed and halted in the road next to the blue sedan. He set his toy down once more to watch as the policeman turned on his light and got out of the car. The man in the sedan rolled his window down and the two chatted a moment, and then the driver moved the vehicle. Dick frowned as he wondered how the four men would find their car now.

Abruptly, the door opened and Alfred climbed into the front of the car. He didn't put down the privacy window, however.

"Master Richard," he said through the intercom. "How are you doing? Any problems?"

Dick hit the button. "No sir. No problems. Was there a very long line in the post office, Alfred?"

"Indeed, it was," Alfred told him. "Are you prepared to wait a bit longer or should I postpone my other errands for another day?"

He was getting a little bored, but he didn't want to cause the older man anymore trouble.

"I can wait a little while longer," he offered. He could always go to the gym when they got back to the manor to get out his fidgets.

"Very well then," Alfred said. "I will be back in a few minutes. The rest of my errands shouldn't take as long as the post office did."

Movement caught Dick's eyes just as Alfred opened his door to go. The four men burst out of the bank and stumbled to a halt as they realized their car was no longer waiting for them. The patrol car still sat where it had been as the officer inside finished his report.

They glanced around them hurriedly, and then one of them looked at the Bentley. Dick's eyes widened in alarm as the man pointed at them and pulled out a gun.

"Alfred!" Dick fumbled with the button. "Alfred! Watch out!"

Everything seemed to happen at once. Three of the men ran to the Bentley as the fourth walked over to the patrol car. Dick's mouth dropped open as one of the men knocked on the window of the car and then shot the policeman inside. He then turned and ran toward the Bentley now as well.

While the fourth man shot the policeman, one of the others had come up behind Alfred. Dick's call had distracted the man instead of warning him. _Oh no!_ As Alfred turned back to see what Dick needed, one of the men had grabbed him by the arm and his coat, and threw the older man into the street.

Dick jumped up to see if Alfred was alright, fumbling for the car lock. Alfred had rolled into the middle of traffic! A car had swerved to miss hitting the older man and had rammed into the front of another car in the opposite lane. And then one of the men was climbing into the front seat; hitting the door locks. Before Dick could open the door for himself, all of the doors opened and the robbers were climbing in.

Dick backpedaled to avoid one of the men, only to bump into another getting in behind him. He was trapped in the middle.

"No! Let me out," Dick cried, trying to shove past one of them.

"Whoa! Hey! Mitch, there's a kid in here," the guy behind him yelped.

Mitch, the man who had shot the cop slid into the back seat. He pointed his pistol into Dick's face, making the boy stumble back and fall to the floor. Then he shoved the gun under his jacket and grabbed the boy's arm. Mitch started to lift the boy across his lap, seemingly with the intention of ejecting Dick from the car when sirens could be heard approaching.

"Damn it," he snarled, and shoved Dick back into the middle. "Go! Go!" He banged on the glass partition.

"But the kid?" The other man stared at him.

"He stays," the killer snapped. "The cops are coming and we might need something to negotiate with. He's our insurance policy as of right now."

"Alfred!" Dick cried out to the elder man as Alfred pushed himself into a sitting position on the concrete. Dick attempted to lunge across Mitch's body, but the man blocked his effort with an arm.

The butler's expression was one of shock and alarm.

"Master Richard!" Alfred yelled. "Stop! Let the boy go! Please!" He held a hand out in Dick's direction, but the man with the gun had already slammed the door.

The driver slammed on the gas and the Bentley roared out into traffic; shoving the police car out of their way. Dick was thrown into Mitch's lap by the car's momentum. He shoved the boy back onto the floorboard as the Bentley wound its way recklessly through the snarl of vehicles.

* * *

"What the fuck? You shot that cop? Are you crazy?" The man with the leather jacket snapped at him.

Mitch ignored him and waved his weapon in Dick's face. "Stay down, kid, and maybe you'll live long enough to tell your friends about this," he growled at him.

"Take it easy, man. He's just a little kid," the other guy interceded; holding out a calming hand.

"Shut up, Tony! Where the hell did Carl go? Damn it! This all went straight to hell," Mitch shouted.

He banged on the glass partition again. After another minute, the privacy panel slid back into its slot; opening the front to the back once more.

"Chill out, Mitch," the man in the passenger seat said as he turned around. "We did it! We got awa . . .wa- What the hell? Where'd that kid come from?"

The driver's gaze flew to the rearview mirror. "What kid?"

Tony answered. "I don't know. He was in here when we climbed in. Mitch said to keep him in case we needed a hostage."

The guy in the passenger seat, gaped. "Hostage! We weren't going to take any hostages! Why didn't you toss him out with that old guy?"

"Shut up!" Mitch yelled. "Just shut up, Jerry, and let me think! We need to ditch this car as soon as we're in the clear. It stands out like a sore thumb. The cops'll be on us like white on rice if we keep it too long!"

"And locking all those people in the vault? Who's brilliant idea was that?" The driver was shaking his head in frustration. "If those people suffocate, it'll be murder one. And now you've got to add grand theft auto and kidnapping! This was supposed to be a simple bank robbery."

"Don't forget killing a cop," Tony added. "Or did you somehow miss that, Rollie?"

"Y-You killed him?" Rollie, the driver, gaped. "What the hell, man?!"

"Nothing worth doing is simple. Just keep driving another couple of blocks, and then pull into an alley." Mitch ordered.

Jerry dropped his head in his hand. "We are so screwed."

Tony looked down at the boy. "And what do we do with _him_? Leave him with the car?"

Mitch glared at him. "We take him with us."

"What?" The other three protested. "No way!"

"Just until we're in the clear," Mitch said. "Then we get rid of him. Later, though, after everything dies down. Tony, you're in charge of the kid until then."

"Wait! Why me? I don't know nothing about kids!" Tony argued.

Jerry swung around in his seat. "Nothing is going to die down! You're a cop killer, and we're accessories! And they're not going to stop as long as we have this kid, Mitch. Look at this car? His parents are obviously rich. They're going to have the cops combing Gotham for him."

Rollie laughed as he turned down another street. "Are you kidding? They're not going to stop at all! And after this stunt, I wouldn't be surprised if we got rodent problems, and if that's the case, then I'm thinking that maybe Mitch is right. We should keep him. At least for a little while."

"You're both nuts," Jerry groused, swinging around to face the front. "I want my cut and then I'm out of here."

"You go when I say you can go," Mitch snarled. "Without the kid, if the cops find us, they might come in guns blazing. But with him, they'll negotiate. We can still get out of this."

Rollie leaned forward over the steering wheel and looked up as if expecting something to come swooping down on top of them any minute. "The cops will be the least of our worries," he predicted.

Resigned, Tony looked out the window, muttering. "We're all going to die."

* * *

 _They locked people inside of a vault_?

Dick kept his head down and his mouth closed. These men had just killed a policeman, and maybe a bunch of other people, too. He knew without saying that the one named Mitch wouldn't even blink before killing a child.

He should be scared. Dick knew in his head that he should be terrified, but all he could think about was if he died, then there would be no one left to testify against Zucco. If these men killed him, Zucco would get away with murder! His parents' killer would walk free.

He couldn't stay here. He had no reason to believe that after all these men had done today, that they would let him go.

Despite what these men thought, Dick's parents weren't rich; they were dead. Bruce was nice, and he liked living with him a lot, but Dick didn't think he would pull out all the stops to find him. After all, Dick wasn't his son . . . He wasn't anything to the man, really, but a fat lot of trouble.

No, Bruce might feel bad for him, but what could _he_ do? Nothing . . . Nothing, but wait on the police to find him. If Mitch didn't shoot him first.

Dick was under no illusions that Mitch would let him live at the end of this. If these men really thought they were going to die, didn't that mean they didn't have anything to lose? That made them desperate. But then, Dick thought with growing determination, he was feeling a little bit desperate himself.

No, if Dick were going to get out of this, he knew he would have to do it on his own.

* * *

Bruce shuffled through the folders laid out in front of him. It wasn't quite noon and already this meeting was feeling interminable. But seven of the ten people in front of him were leaving, some immediately following the meeting, for the next two or three weeks to spend the holidays with family. Certain decisions needed to be made before some of these people became incommunicado.

Normally, Bruce would have been annoyed. He never went anywhere for the holidays and trying to cram two weeks of meetings into one was a headache that seemed unnecessary. Certainly three days was more than enough time to visit with family and friends. He didn't understand why such a fuss was made every year at this time . . .

At least that had been his thoughts on the matter _last_ year.

Bruce checked his watch again. Luckily, the stores stayed open longer during this time of year. He figured, by the time this meeting concluded, it would already be six o'clock. Maybe if they ordered lunch in and worked through the hour, they could wrap this up early. He doubted anyone would complain.

Bruce wanted to swing by FAO Schwartz on his way home and with the crowds he was bound to find, it meant missing dinner with the kiddo. Alfred had told him how disappointed the boy was whenever he couldn't make it home in time, but Bruce found his lips easing up in a smile thinking of ways to make it up to him.

"What's this?" Lucius Fox, Wayne Enterprises' Chief Financial Officer's whispered question pulled Bruce's attention to his right. "I know you can't be that ecstatic over the latest stocks and dividends. They aren't bad, but they've been better, and they've _certainly_ never made you smile before."

"Hm? Oh, sorry, Lucius," Bruce murmured. "Mind was wandering."

His CFO nodded in agreement. "Understandable. I've already went through these reports, so nothing is new here for me. But _you_ . . ." Lucius lifted a brow as he contemplated the younger man. " _You_ almost seem excited for the holidays this year. What has happened to the charming Scrooge we all know and love?"

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce looked up at the young woman giving the report, startled.

"Did you have a question?" She asked.

"Ah, no, no. You may proceed, Ms. . . ." Bruce hesitated; his mind suddenly drawing a blank on the woman's name.

"Clough," Lucius coughed into his hand.

"Ms. Crowell," Bruce finished smoothly.

The woman's lids dropped to half-mast. "It's normally pronounced Clough, sir," she corrected, dryly.

Lucius coughed again harder in order to cover his laughter and reached for his glass of water.

"My apologies, Ms. Clough," Bruce smiled tightly. "You may continue," he said as he turned his chair enough that he could discreetly kick his CFO's ankle under the table.

Lucius grunted, and choked on his water; spilling a small amount on his tie. Bruce patted the man on the back, unhelpfully.

"This is a silk tie, I'll have you know, damn it," Lucius complained in a whisper after he had caught his breath.

"I'll have my secretary buy you a new one," Bruce murmured through his teeth.

"My wife buys all my ties," the older man replied.

Bruce paused and looked at him. "Then I'll send her a blank check. She can buy you a hundred silk ties and maybe you'll hang yourself with one instead of getting me in trouble during meetings."

Lucius' mouth tightened as he met the younger man's gaze. They held it for several long seconds before the two men started laughing; startling the other members of the meeting.

Ms. Clough stared at the two men, clearly annoyed. "I'm sorry, but are we interrupting something?"

Bruce grinned; ignoring a few of the gaping expressions from around the table. Bruce Wayne at a party might smile and chuckle, but Bruce Wayne in the boardroom was a shark. He seldom smiled and never laughed inside of these walls.

"I believe it is time for a break, Ms. Clough," he announced. "We can resume in an hour. Gentlemen. Ladies . . ." he stood; happy to stretch his legs.

It looked as though he would be missing dinner tonight after all, but Bruce comforted himself with the promise of another chapter to Robin Hood. He had only begun reading this book to Dick yesterday, after they had finished up Alice in Wonderland. It had been one of Bruce's personal favorites as a boy.

Bruce rounded on his CFO. "You did that on purpose," he accused.

Lucius didn't look up from where he was dabbing at his tie with a handkerchief. "I did not," he denied. "I was attempting to help you out of the hole you found yourself in. You had quite obviously forgotten that young woman's name."

"It sounded like you said _Crowell_ ," Bruce stated.

"Your mistake," Lucius smirked as he refolded and tucked the handkerchief into his jacket pocket expertly.

"My mistake was sitting by _you_ ," Bruce retorted dryly.

Lucius grinned; not offended in the least. "So, mind telling me what was more important than Ms. _Clough's_ report?"

Bruce glanced around the room. Most people had already left, but there were still a couple of other men chatting quietly on the other side of the table. He moved over to the wall of windows overlooking Gotham Plaza down below. Lucius followed him.

"Well?" The other man leaned one shoulder against the glass. He'd already seen the view.

"Lucius? What would make a good Christmas gift for an eight year old boy?" Bruce blurted.

Lucius' smile fell away and he frowned. "Ah, is there something you need to tell me?"

Bruce blew out his breath and looked at his colleague. Lucius Fox, for all that the man was fifteen years his senior, could be considered one of Bruce's most trusted acquaintances. They were friendly, if not exactly friends, but they might have been. Bruce certainly respected him.

"I suppose I can trust you to . . . What?" Bruce blinked at the man's expression.

"Mr. Wayne, please tell me you at least requested a paternity test," Lucius hissed quietly.

"A paternity . . .? What? _No_! It's nothing like that," Bruce gaped at the man. "Dick is my ward!"

It was now Lucius' turn to blink. "Ward? What are you talking about?"

"Sh," Bruce motioned for Lucius to keep his growing volume down. "No one knows yet," he stated. "Right now, it's still considered temporary, but I've started looking into the steps necessary to making it permanent."

"A ward, Bruce? You're telling me that you've taken on a ward from the state? An eight year old boy?" Lucius stared at him in disbelief. "Whatever possessed you to do such a crazy thing? Whatever possessed a judge to allow it?"

Bruce frowned at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, come on, Bruce!" Lucius waved his hand in the air. "Your lifestyle is hardly conducive to raising children."

Bruce darted a glance to the table, but the remaining men had already exited the conference room; leaving him and Lucius alone.

"Look, would you keep it down. No one is supposed to know the boy's whereabouts, and I would prefer to keep it that way!"

"Oh, like the reporters won't get wind of something like this! It's only a matter of time, you know, Bruce. And exactly what the hell are you planning to do with a child?" Lucius asked angrily.

* * *

Lucius was fairly certain that Bruce had no lecherous leanings, despite what the gossip columns might claim, but this could look very bad when it finally came to the light as eventually all secrets were wont to do. There were no end of the people who would love to tear into the younger man and smear mud on the Wayne family honor. Secretly harboring a young boy in one's home wouldn't be a mere mud bath, but quicksand, able and eager to swallow Gotham's favorite son whole!

As Lucius' concern became clear, Bruce's face darkened dangerously.

"How _dare_ you! It isn't like that," Bruce snarled. "This boy is Richard Grayson!"

Lucius' brows drew down. He'd heard that name before . . . His eyes widened as the memory struck. "Those circus acrobats?! The ones who died . . . This is _their_ child?"

"Sh. Yes," Bruce hushed him. The conference room was private, but not exactly soundproofed. "He is a material witness in his parents' murder. The bastard that killed them is still at large and has a contract out on the boy's head. If anything were to happen to Dick, that scumbag would walk away scot free!"

"So, how did you end up with him?"

Bruce sighed and turned back to the window. "I looked for him," he admitted.

"I was there, Lucius. When his parents were killed, I was in the audience." He didn't wait for the other man to ask his questions. "I wanted to make sure he was taken care of, you understand. It's hard enough when a child loses his parents, but Dick lost so much more than that. He was torn away from everything he'd ever known. I just wanted to be certain that he was going be okay."

"And . . .?"

"The police discovered the hit put out on him." Bruce stated.

"And they just up and decided that the home of a billionaire playboy was the safest harbor for the child to weather the storm?" Disbelief colored the man's words.

"No! No, CPS decided he would be safer in Gotham City's Boys Correctional Facility," Bruce growled. Remembering the condition of the boy when he and Alfred had finally gotten to see him still made him want to pound something . . . someone.

"The detention center?" Lucius looked startled. "But he's what? You said he was only eight years old! Dear Lord, what in heaven's name were they thinking? A child that young . . ."

"He was in bad shape when I found him, Lucius. He had already been beaten by two of the older boys," Bruce said, angrily. "All because he would cry during the night! Don't you see? I couldn't just leave him there! The manor's security is formidable; _no one_ could get in without Alfred or I being alerted, so, I got a judge to grant me temporary custody until Zucco is captured and convicted. Once that happens, the contract should be rescinded."

"And then he goes back into the system . . ." Lucius concluded.

"Maybe . . ." Bruce's face grew a little warm. "See, Alfred and I have been thinking about that."

" _Alfred_ has, has he?"

Bruce ignored the comment and continued. "Dick's already been staying with us for almost two months. When this is over, it seems a shame to uproot him after he's gotten settled in so well at the manor."

"You want to _keep_ him?" Lucius looked surprised. He'd never have taken Bruce for a family man. "He's not a stray puppy who's followed you home, Bruce."

"I _know_ that," he snapped. "But it makes sense! He already knows and trusts us."

"That boy needs a family, Bruce. A home!"

"What? And I can't give him that?"

Lucius shook his head. "He needs a father and a mother . . ."

"Alfred . . ."

"Is you _butler_!" Lucius interrupted. "Granted, he's the world's most amazing butler, but he is still your employee, and not your wife."

"The man raised me!" Bruce retorted. "And why would I need one of those?"

"What? A wife?" Lucius chortled. "Do I need to explain it to you? How ever did you gain your reputation?"

"There are a lot of single fathers out there . . ."

"But their children are their own," Lucius told him.

Bruce took a breath; forcing himself to calm down. "I don't plan to marry, Lucius; _ever_. The number of children I would father in the conventional sense can be counted with _no_ hands."

Lucius considered himself friendly with the younger man, but they were more colleagues than actual friends. Outside of the office, the two had little in common. Lucius was a family man . . . Bruce Wayne was . . . not. But he had never expected the man to open up like this to him about private things. Certainly, he never expected for Bruce Wayne to come right out and admit that he planned to let his family's legacy die with him.

"I need an heir," he admitted.

"And this child . . . You've decided that this circus boy will be that heir?" Lucius stared. "Bruce, you've only known this child for two months. You met him through a tragic circumstance that vaguely mirrored your own. Perhaps you need to step back from this and get a little perspective."

Bruce turned as looked the other man in the eye. "You don't know him. You've never met Dick. He's not like . . ."

"Other children? Bruce, how would you know? You spend your days sleeping and working, and your nights drinking and womanizing, or out doing . . . whatever young playboys like to do." Lucius finished quietly.

He had his suspicions, of course. He was the Chief Financial Officer for Wayne Enterprise. He oversaw the R&D department, and took over its budget personally a few short years ago after noting several unusual discrepancies. He never said anything. His investigation cleared the usual suspects for embezzlement and industrial espionage, and led him incongruously right back to his employer.

Lucius, instead of confronting the board of directors with his findings, however, had taken his investigation a little further. Bruce Wayne, personally, was completely solvent. He had no reason whatsoever to scam his own company of profits or technologies. It made no sense . . . at first. And then he began looking more closely into the technologies and projects that Bruce had ordered shelved. Projects that, for all intents and purposes, had been promising and potentially profitable.

That year, there had been the advent of a new vigilante in Gotham City that seemed to have access to several familiar looking technologies. Lucius had watched the news with increasing interest until . . . He had decided to simply add the budget and books for Wayne Tech's Research and Development department to his own workload permanently. It would be safer that way.

Bruce pursed his mouth. "Admittedly, certain aspects of my life would need to change."

"And you're willing to make those changes?"

"Lucius, the boy needs a home. I am willing to provide that home. He would never want for anything ever again," Bruce argued.

Lucius eyed the man in front of him. He seemed serious and quite sincere, but this was a child . . .

"Do you love him?"

Bruce's head snapped around.

Lucius held his ground. "He deserves a family who will love him; not just care for him. Could you do that?"

Bruce opened his mouth and closed it again. "I-I _care_ about this boy. This is more than just wanting to provide for him. And he wants to stay with us; Alfred and me."

Lucius sighed. How would Bruce be able to give the boy the love he would need to thrive if the man couldn't even bring himself to say the words?

* * *

"Bruce . . ." Lucius began, only to be interrupted.

The door opened and Bruce's secretary, Caroline, poked her head inside. As soon as she spotted Bruce, she swept inside and made a beeline to the phone on the bureau behind the table.

"Mr. Wayne! Oh, thank God you haven't left the building," she spoke breathlessly. "I have Mr. Pennyworth on the line. He insisted on speaking to you immediately. I thought it was important to put him through. He sounds very upset, sir, and I could hear sirens in the background," she added.

Bruce glanced at his CFO, and moved to the phone quickly. Caroline picked up the line and punched in a number.

"Mr. Pennyworth? Yes, I have him right here," she spoke into the phone, and then handed the handset to him.

"Alfred? What's happened? What's wrong?"

Fear spiked at the sound of Alfred's voice. No wonder Caroline had ran up here to personally put through the call. The man sounded shaken to his core. To a stranger, he might have sounded mildly put-out, but to Bruce . . . his stoic, British butler sounded on the verge of panic. And Caroline had been right; Bruce could hear the police and ambulance sirens in the background.

"Sir, it is all my fault," was the first thing out of Alfred's mouth.

"Alfred, calm down. First off, where are you?"

"I'm on Wilmont, sir, outside of First National Trust," Alfred answered. "I came merely to run a few errands that needed to be done today. I never should have brought the boy with me, but I couldn't leave him home alone."

"In _public_? Alfred, if he's spotted . . ." Bruce's hand tightened on the handset; threatening to crack the housing.

"I fear it is far worse than that, Master Bruce," Alfred interrupted. Alfred seldom ever interrupted. He considered it the very height of rudeness.

"Is it Zucco? One of his men? Where is the boy now? Is he alright? Was he injured?"

"No, not Zucco. At least, I don't believe this was intentional. I took the Bentley because of the tinted windows and left him inside with the doors locked and the car running. I thought if no one could see him that he would be safe enough . . . But apparently, sir, there had been a bank robbery while I was in the post office." Alfred rushed to explain. "The robbers' vehicle had been approached by a police officer, I believe, for parking in front of a hydrant, so the driver must have left the scene without the remaining members of his group. I had paused only to check on the boy. The bank robbers came out as I was exiting the Bentley. I'm afraid I didn't see them until it was too late!"

"Are _you_ alright? Were either of you hurt?" The knot inside Bruce's stomach tightened uncomfortably.

"I am fine. Merely bruised a bit. One of the men tossed me into the street and commandeered the Bentley, sir. Master Richard was still inside! He tried to get out, but the men moved too quickly. They took him with them as a hostage! I daresay, sir, that the boy is in desperate need of a _friend_ right now."

" _Damn it_!" Bruce was already thinking ahead. He had a suit stashed here. He would need an excuse to get out of the rest of the meeting. If those men discovered Dick's identity, they would kill him for the reward. "I'm on my way."

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce," Alfred apologized. "I fear it is more serious than that."

"More serious than Zucco?" He couldn't imagine how . . .

"One of the scoundrels shot an officer, and apparently locked more than a dozen people in the bank vault; including the bank manager. Their air is limited and it doesn't look good for them. I should never have removed him from the manor grounds . . . If anything happens to him, I shall never forgive myself!"

"You didn't know what would happen, Alfred. You did the best you could." The older man was obviously berating himself thoroughly, but Bruce didn't have the time to spare to relieve him further from his guilt. "I'll take care of everything. Can you make it home? Perhaps you should call Leslie to pick you up. Invite her to wait for me." Bruce told him, and then hung up.

Alfred might have been injured in the altercation, and who knew what kind of shape Dick would be in by the time that Batman located him. Better if the doctor hung around for a while. He turned to the concerned gazes of his secretary and his CFO.

"Thank you, Caroline. I will be away for the foreseeable future. If anyone asks, tell them I left early for the holidays." Bruce said quickly. He moved to his chair to retrieve his jacket. "You may leave early yourself. Wish your family a very happy holiday for me."

"O-Of course, sir," she stammered. No one would believe her. Mr. Wayne seldom ever left the office early, and certainly not for the holidays. She knew something serious had occurred, however. An accident, perhaps. Caroline wondered who the boy was, and knew that whoever he was, he must be in some kind of trouble. It seemed a shame for this to happen, especially now. Mr. Wayne had seemed more relaxed and in better spirits recently than she had ever seen him since she started working for him. She said a little prayer for her boss as she left the conference room.

"Bruce, what's happened?" Lucius asked as soon as the door closed behind the woman.

"Make some excuses for me, Lucius. Something unavoidable has come up," Bruce shrugged into his jacket and made for the door.

"I heard you mention the boy. Is it him? Is it Richard Grayson?"

Bruce stopped before opening the door. He had already admitted to Dick's existence. He nodded tightly.

"The Bentley was stolen," Bruce told him through clenched teeth. "Dick was inside of it at the time. He's being held hostage. I need to go home in case they call with a ransom demand."

Lucius looked at him oddly, but was nodding; accepting his excuse. "Of course, go! Go! He needs you."

"No one can know about him, Lucius," Bruce reminded him.

"No one will learn about him from me," Lucius assured him. "Is there anything I can do in the meantime?"

"Pray," Bruce spoke over his shoulder. "I know you do that sort of thing. So, if you could do that for . . . for Dick, I'd appreciate it."

"Yes, of course," Lucius told him. "You don't even have to ask. And maybe the Batman will hear about the case and help . . . If we're lucky?"

Bruce nodded absentmindedly; not really hearing him as he pulled open the door and stepped out. "If we're lucky . . ."

And then he was gone.

More than just Dick's life was on the line now. He would have to hurry if he had any hope of saving any of them.

Bruce ran past the elevators, although a man had kindly held it for him. Just as he neared the stairwell, Bruce dug out his keys and found his special remote. He has programmed it for several of his vehicles. He clicked the correct code and entered it. It flashed that the message was sent. Bruce could only pray that the robbers would abandon Dick when they were forced to abandon the car.

The boy was smart. Surely he would know enough to stay in the car, lock the doors, and wait for rescue.

Instead of heading down the stairs to his office two floors below, Bruce raced upwards; taking two and three steps at a time towards the roof.

* * *

Five minutes later, a shadow swung across the afternoon sky. Almost never seen in the light, the shape of the Bat somehow managed to look even more menacing than in the moonlight. He was high up, though. Only those on the upper floors up the skyscrapers that made up Gotham's familiar skyline would witness the occasion, and even then, he was moving so swiftly that only one who had been prepared would see him.

"Go get your boy, Bruce," the man whispered at the shadow as it disappeared behind another building.

Lucius Fox turned away from the window and prepared his excuses that would end the meeting until sometime after the New Year. Truthfully, he had seen the items that had been on the meeting's agenda, and none of them were as important as the life of a little boy, no matter his DNA. These decisions could wait a few weeks. Richard Grayson . . . Dick, Bruce had called him, could not.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **Looking forward to hearing your reactions to this one . . .** **Chapter 2 will be posted Monday morning as I will be waiting 24 hours to update. FYI: If you've never heard of it, FAO Schwartz is a large, fancy, toy store that is located in certain big cities, like New York and Los Angeles, and in this case, Gotham City.**

 **No worries, I'm still working on the chapters to "Derailment" and "LR: Running Scared" and should be up early during the week.**


	2. Discovery

**Okay, this took a little longer than I expected, but hey! This is a long chapter . . . Not even close to finishing the story up. One more chapter to go and yes, it turns a bit epic! Enjoy the drama as it unfolds.**

 **WARNING: VERY STRONG LANGUAGE . . .**

* * *

"What happened?" Mitch leaned forward over the back of the seat. "Why are we stopping here for? I told you to find a place to ditch this thing!"

Rollie flicked an angry gaze via the rearview mirror. "What? You think I turned the car off on purpose?" He used the car's momentum to turn into an alley.

"So, why are we stopping?"

"Because this is a rich man's car with a rich man's security system," Rollie snapped. "Somebody turned the car off by remote control."

Jerry shoved his shoulder. "So, turn it back on and let's get out of here! Come on, let's go!"

Rollie answered through gritted teeth. "It won't turn on again! It's done! And we're done if we stay here, so I suggest we get our asses in gear."

Tony snorted. "Shutting down the ignition by remote? Sounds like something from a science fiction movie." He started to unlock the door. "We're leaving the kid here, right?"

"Open the glove box first," Mitch nodded at the box with his chin. "Let's see who the kid belongs to."

Better to comply, Jerry thought as he opened the box and rifled through the information. Mitch would just as likely shoot one of them if they tried to leave before he agreed to it. He found the registration and stared, and then he started laughing.

"We hit the motherlode, boys," Jerry grinned at them. "We've hit the mother-fucking-lode!" He picked up the duffel from between his feet and lifted it up. "This shit? This is nothing! It's birdfeed! Chump change!"

Jerry tossed the paper to Rollie. "See for yourself."

Rollie's gaze traveled across the paper slowly. He didn't read as well as Jerry, so it took a little longer, but soon the frown of concentration lightened and he smiled.

"Are you shitting me?" He met the curious gazes of the other two mates and lifted the registration in his hand. "Bruce, motherfucking, Wayne?!"

"No way!" Mitch snatched the paper out of Rollie's hand to read for himself.

"Wait a minute! I thought Wayne was some kind of playboy," Tony chimed in. "Last I heard he wasn't no family man."

"The guy's got a dozen women who fall at his feet wherever he goes," Jerry snorted. "You really think he doesn't have a bastard or two floating around somewhere?"

Rollie looked at the kid over the back of the front seat. "He's what? Six? Seven, maybe? That would have made Wayne like eighteen or nineteen when he was born. Carl got his lady knocked up when he was sixteen." He shrugged. "It's possible."

"I'm eight," Dick yelled at him; offended. He immediately regretted it, and clamped his lips shut. He wrapped his arms around his legs and ducked his head.

Rollie laughed and slapped Jerry's arm. "Hah! What'd I tell you? Seventeen!"

Jerry took the registration back and stuck it where he found it. "I hear he goes to a different party every night. What do you want to bet, Wayne got wasted, and now, nine years later, the kid's mother handed him off when her bank account dropped too low?"

Mitch had been eyeing the boy with renewed interest. "How are you related to Wayne, kid? Is he really your old man?"

Dick turned his face away. He didn't want to say anything else to these men.

Tony rubbed his chin. "I don't know. He doesn't look _that_ much like him."

"What do you mean? The kid's got his black hair and . . . and . . . Hey! Look up here, kid. Let Uncle Mitch and Uncle Tony take a looksee."

Mitch took a handful of hair and forced the boy's head up. Dick yelped and grabbed a hold of the man's wrist.

"And his baby blues, too," the man grinned. "How much you think Daddy will pay to get you back, kid?"

Tony was staring at the boy, however. "Hey! You know . . . I think I've seen this kid someplace before."

Jerry snorted. "Probably! He's got a famous daddy!"

But Tony was shaking his head. "No, no, that's not it."

"Well, if he ain't Wayne's kid, then why the hell was he in the man's car, genius?" Rollie pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. He blew out a cloud of smoke.

Tony narrowed his eyes and chewed his bottom lip. He had a good memory if it were something worth remembering. He'd seen this kid before . . . A picture, in the paper; maybe on TV? He blinked. _Television_! _That's it_!

"He was on the news!" Tony crowed. "Yeah! I remember now. He's that circus kid!"

At the blank stares of his cohorts, Tony hit the back of Jerry's seat. "Come on! You know who I'm talking about. His parents got offed a while back. This kid was a witness!"

Jerry turned around and stretched back over the seat. He grabbed Dick's arm, pulling him up off of the floor. "Let me see . . ."

" _Ow_! Stop it," Dick protested. This was what Alfred had warned him about. Bad things would happen to him if someone recognized him. He squirmed, but Mitch snatched him up and tossed him onto his booster seat that still sat between him and Tony.

Tony twisted around and held his shoulder as Mitch held his face up by his chin. They were all looking at him now. Jerry's eyes widened as a thought seemed to occur to him.

"Hey, hey! That guy, Zucco, out of Newtown . . . Isn't he wanted for that?"

Mitch was frowning and nodding. "Yeah, the cops have been coming to the 'hood' for weeks looking for him."

"And the Bat, too." Smoke came out of Rollie's nose and mouth as he spoke. He looked at the others. "I'd be more worried about the Bat than some cops," he told them. "Cops have rules, you know? The Bat?" He shrugged. "Not so much."

Mitch let go of Dick's face and leaned back against his door. "Carl's cousin was talking the other day about that Zucco character." When he had everyone's attention, including Dick's, he continued. "Said the guy's paying some big bucks for anyone bringing him this kid." He looked at Dick. "Grayson, right?"

Dick tightened his lips and glared at them.

Tony nodded. "Yeah. His folks were the Flying Graysons."

Jerry snorted. "They flew all right. Like a couple of bags of wet sand. Splat!"

It was too much! Dick snarled and flew at the man; hands extended like claws. " _Shut up_! Shut up," he screamed. "You don't talk about my parents that way!"

Tony yanked him back onto the seat, but not before Dick was able to leave a trail of long scratches across Jerry's face. Jerry yelled, and stared at the blood on his hand that came from the gouges.

"Why you little piece of shit," he roared and started over the seat after the boy. "I'm going to make you pay for that . . ."

Tony stiff-armed him while Rollie grabbed Jerry around the waist and dragged him back into the front seat.

"Wait, you idiot!" Tony yelled at him. "We don't know if Zucco wants the kid dead or alive!"

Rollie was slapping at his lap. His cigarette had dropped out of his mouth when he had caught Jerry. It had burned a hole in the leg of his jeans and in the leather seat. He picked up what was left of it and stuck it back into his mouth.

"So, what? Does this mean we don't hit up Wayne for the money now?" Rollie asked.

"No, stupid," Tony frowned at him. "This kid's not related to him. I don't know how the kid got into his car, but without being the guy's blood relation, it's too risky to contact him about a ransom."

"But all that money . . ." Rollie sighed; suddenly depressed.

"He's still worth something to someone, though," Tony announced.

"Not when I get done with him," Jerry growled. He was looking at the damage Dick had done to his face in the rearview mirror.

Rollie laughed and shoved Jerry's shoulder again. "Quit your bitching! You were too pretty anyway. You couldn't intimidate yourself out of a wet paper bag. Leastways _now_ people might take you seriously with some nasty scars like that."

"Not if everyone found out that it was some preschooler that made them," Mitch snorted in amusement.

"Shut up!" Jerry snapped, twisting the mirror back the other way.

Rollie looked in the back. "So who wants him? This guy, Zucco, you said?"

"Dead or alive?" Jerry flicked open a switchblade and smirked at the boy.

Dick narrowed his eyes and glared back; too angry to realize he should be scared.

Tony sighed. "I don't know about that. You?" He asked Mitch, but the other man only shrugged. Tony continued. "Better to show up with him alive, just in case. We can always kill him there, if Zucco wants, but then again, he may give us a bonus for letting him finish the job himself."

Mitch was grinning. "Sounds like a plan to me."

"Uh huh, and how much is Zucco paying?" Jerry asked while playing with his knife.

Mitch shrugged. "It's two counts of murder one for him if the kid testifies. How much would that be worth to you?"

Jerry put his knife away and picked up his duffel of money. "So the kid goes with us, then."

Dick picked up his Rubik's Cube and shoved it into his coat pocket just as Tony grabbed onto Dick's arm and opened the door. Cold winter air immediately invaded the interior of the car.

"The kid goes with us," Mitch confirmed with a grin.

* * *

When Batman arrived the entire street was cordoned off with emergency vehicles. He released his line and dropped to the sidewalk in front of the bank. He couldn't help looking to see if Alfred was still around, but couldn't see him with all of the police and fire personnel milling around.

"Batman! I'm not sure how you heard about this, but I can't say I'm not glad to see you." Commissioner Gordon walked over to meet him. "I thought Bats only come out at night."

"Unless there is an unusual number of pests," Batman murmured. "And then, sometimes, they can be coaxed out into the light."

Gordon grunted; nodding his head. "There were four in the bank, but witnesses place a blue sedan out front at the time of the robbery." He waved to one of the patrol cars still parked slightly in front of the red hydrant. "Officer Walker apparently gave the fifth perp a warning; letting him off easy because of the holidays. The driver, probably spooked, left the scene before his crew came out. One of the guy's buddies gave Officer Walker a Christmas present in return."

"Did they kill him?"

"No. No, but not for lack of trying," Gordon stated. "The bullet entered the right chest just below the collarbone and passed through; exiting his side below the armpit. Forensics is pulling the slug out of the seat now. He lost a lot of blood, but his prognosis seems good. At least that's what the paramedics told me. The man's damned lucky. The bullet missed the artery by something like a millimeter."

"And the people in the vault?" Batman turned to move into the bank lobby.

"That's a different story," the commissioner told him as he followed him through the doors. "The fire department is trying to pump oxygen in through the ventilation system right now, but with that many people crammed inside . . . There is a camera feed inside the vault, and from the looks of it, only a few are conscious. By the time the fire department was called in and arrived . . . We may need to replace our ambulances with hearses."

"What are you doing to get the bank doors open?" Officers and firemen alike moved out of his way.

"We've called in a couple of locksmiths, but they're estimating several hours," Gordon said.

"Was anyone else hurt?" Batman was already reaching inside of one of the compartments on his belt. He looked distracted, but he was anything but. This was the information he was looking for.

He wanted nothing more than to go after Dick. He remembered the traumatized boy that he and Alfred had rescued from the detention facility a couple of months ago, and imagined that this experience must be a hundred times worse than anything he had gone through before.

Just this morning at breakfast, the boy had been smiling and chatting animatedly about his trip to the zoo. He hated that they would likely have lost all of the progress that they had made over the last few weeks, but he was anticipating the worst. It was too much, too quickly. He couldn't conceive Dick being able to process another ordeal this grievous, this soon after his last one.

"Unfortunately, the four perps grabbed a man just as he was exiting his vehicle. The man was thrown into traffic and just missed being struck by a passing vehicle. He was pretty shaken up, but we have a description of the car, and it shouldn't be too difficult to locate."

Gordon waved Batman to the side; away from other potential eavesdroppers.

"There was a boy inside the vehicle stolen," Gordon whispered. "Richard Grayson. The car belonged to Bruce Wayne. It was his butler that was thrown from the vehicle."

"I remember the name of the boy. Has he been found?" How quickly would word escape that Dick was staying with Bruce Wayne? If the press found out before the boy could be recovered, the four robbers wouldn't be the only danger he would find himself in. Then again, what would happen to the boy if the robbers learned his identity?

"No, not yet. We suspect the perps might have abandoned the vehicle and are hoping that they left the boy with it. But we won't know for sure until the car is located." Gordon looked back over at the activity going on at the vault. "After this, though, I'll admit I'm afraid for him."

Batman turned back to the vault. "I came because I have something that might help."

He wanted to go after the boy right now, but he couldn't leave these people to die; not when he could do something that might get them free that much faster; before they ran out of air.

He strode through the crowd and up to the vault. Perhaps they would have had a chance had the bank manager not been one of the victims locked inside. The vault was standard for most mid-sized banks. It had a combination lock with four pins and several million possibilities. As an extra deterrent, this vault also included a time lock; a device that would ensure the demise of everyone now locked inside.

Normally, there was only enough air for approximately nine hours, but that was only for one person. The timer on this vault was set for fourteen hours, and its occupants, according to the security video, numbered fifteen. They had already been inside the vault for almost an hour, and several were already rendered unconscious.

As Batman stepped up to the heavy metal vault, the locksmith that had been busy drilling stopped and moved back out of the way. He pulled free his mini bat laser device. For such a small device, it packed a hell of a punch. He could cut through a car door like it was butter. He could cut through the metal of a gun safe in a few minutes, but Batman had never had an opportunity or reason to cut through something the thickness of a bank vault.

Using the hole already drilled by the locksmith, Batman turned on the laser and immediately sparks and smoke flew up from the hole. It sped the process up by a lot, but not nearly enough for him. The clock was ticking for everyone! These people were actively dying, but Batman couldn't stop thinking about Dick and what his boy must be going through. He had to be so scared . . .

Eleven minutes instead of two hours by drill, but was it eleven minutes Dick could spare? Instead of stepping back and letting the locksmith continue, Batman reached into his utility belt and pulled out a small tube with a jet nozzle. He filled the hole with the gel, tucked a tiny detonator the size of a small button into the hole and blowing it further in; back into the gel.

"Step back," he ordered as he moved a safe distance himself.

Tapping a button hidden in his belt, Batman activated the device and the gel exploded inside of the vault door with a muffled _whoomf!_ The vibrations of the explosion could be felt through the floor. He moved forward to ensure the gel had done its job; turning the wheel. It spun effortlessly, and with a grunt, the door cracked open.

People cheered, but Batman was already gone; bursting through the bank doors and shooting off a grapple. He was pulled high above the streets as he swung in the direction his GPS locator indicated. He landed on the rooftop across the street and began running; surprised at how far the Bentley had gotten from its starting position before he had discovered it stolen and activated the remote to stall the vehicle.

Bruce had promised the boy he would be safe with him; that nothing bad would happen to him while living at the manor. He had to get to him before he could be hurt, or worse, before the robbers decided to cover their tracks by silencing the boy permanently. He could only pray that they didn't discover the child's real identity.

But perhaps . . . Perhaps, they would believe the boy was _his._ Perhaps they would attempt to contact Bruce Wayne for a ransom. If that was the case, it would be in their best interest to leave the boy unharmed. But, Batman had never been one for optimism. He was alive today because he expected the worst, and planned for it in advance.

He leapt over the alley; his strength and momentum compensating for the drag of his cape. He rolled with his landing and came up running once more. Fear lending his feet wings, Batman poured on a fresh burst of speed as he closed the distance between him and his target.

 _Be safe_ , he thought a bit desperately. _Be safe_ . . . _Be safe_ . . . _Please, be safe_ . . .

* * *

"Push the car deeper into the alley and drag that dumpster out in front of it," Mitch ordered. "The longer it takes them to find it, the farther away we will be."

Tony left Dick to Mitch and helped the other two with the chore. Mitch wrapped his arm around Dick's neck; whispering in his ear.

"Don't even think about trying it," he told him. "Unlike Tony, I think Zucco would pay up whether or not you showed up with a broken neck."

Dick wrapped his hands around Mitch's arm, but the man was too strong and his hold too tight. He choked a little, and tried not to panic when his airway was constricted. He could still breathe, although it was harder with the arm pressing against his windpipe. But he didn't try to move.

Whatever else Mitch might be, Dick didn't think he was a liar.

When they were finished, Mitch shoved Dick at Tony. The other man grasped Dick's arm and gave him a little warning shake before shoving him forward as the five of them marched down the sidewalk.

"We didn't do so bad after all," Rollie was saying. "I recognize where we are."

"I'd hope the hell so," Mitch grunted. "You were the idiot driving."

Rollie shot Mitch a look over his shoulder. "Yeah, and that was supposed to have been Carl's job, not mine. Anyways, we're not far from my brother's place. We can hole up there until we can figure out what our next move is."

"Our next move is to dump this kid into Zucco's lap and collect the bounty," Mitch snorted.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Do you know where to find him?"

"Don't you?" Jerry asked. "You're the one that thought all this shit up!"

"I heard it down at Milo's. If nothing else, we can wait a couple of hours and then one of us can head down there. Milo might know," Tony said, easily.

"Yeah, well, Carl's not getting anything," Rollie snarled. "Not from the bank job and not for the kid; not after deserting us like that. Bart can borrow us a car."

Jerry stared at Rollie a moment. "Bart's a member of the Irish Easties, ain't he?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"He wouldn't rat us out to his gang, would he?" Jerry asked. "I ain't doing all the work and splitting the dough up with anyone else."

The four of them had avoided gang affiliation and they preferred it that way. While the gangs could offer weapons and a certain amount of protection from rival gangs, they also had a tendency to have a dog-eat-dog kind of hierarchy that none of the four wanted to deal with. Not only that, but any job you did had to be approved and the gang got a large percentage of the take whether or not you got help from them. Sometimes they would just take over, too, and cut out the guy whose idea it was.

Nah, these guys wanted nothing to do with the Easties, or any of the other gangs that were trying to infiltrate the other's turf. Not even if one of their members was a brother.

"Maybe we should just push on," Mitch suggested.

"Bart wouldn't rat us," Rollie insisted. "He's my brother first. We've always looked out for each other."

"Once you become an Eastie, they become your brothers," Tony interjected. "Blood don't mean a thing."

"Blood is everything," Rollie snapped. "We promised mom on her sick bed. Bart wouldn't betray that."

"Might not mean a thing if Bart's not even there," Jerry said.

Rollie pulled a set of keys from his pocket and jangled them in front of the others. "Not a problem when I'm carrying the solution on my keyring," he smirked.

They took a left at the next intersection.

Dick glanced behind him as the four men talked. There were people out, but not many. Mostly women with children younger than him or old men. He suspected some of them were homeless, and if he were honest, a few of them looked like they might be worse than the ones he was with. That was saying something . . . But Dick didn't like the speculative look in a couple of those men's eyes as their gaze followed the group as they passed by.

He stumbled along with Tony's hard grip holding his arm at an uncomfortable angle; keeping his eyes peeled for help or at least opportunity. He gulped and looked away after one nasty, older man leered at him and blew him a kiss.

Maybe things would be more promising down another block . . . or two.

* * *

Dick was suddenly yanked into a beat-up, old brownstone building and shoved up several sets of stairs. He stumbled; barking his shin on a step. He yelped as he dropped down to hold his leg; allowing tears to well and fall down his cheeks.

He hadn't been prepared to be hauled into a building when it happened. He had been too busy considering his options, and now they were even more limited. To manage this, he needed to make his captors believe he was too tired to try anything. They already knew he was an acrobat, but Dick didn't think they understood how much strength and stamina was required to do that for a living. Better, he thought, for them to underestimate him.

He didn't know if they even realized that he had actually worked nearly every performance his parents had; two a day on Fridays and Saturdays; and all the practice and strength training that was required to make it all possible. While he was still feeling the effects of being sick earlier in the week, Dick knew he was more than capable of outrunning any of them in the right circumstances. The problem was not his strength and stamina, or even his speed . . . Dick was fast! No, the real problem was how many of them there were.

The four men could easily outmaneuver him in enclosed spaces like this, but the street wasn't much better for all that it was open. Dick knew he wouldn't be able to keep his speed up for long stretches. The men's longer legs would eventually eat up the distance, and they would catch him. Then, they would either kill him outright, or else hurt him enough that he wouldn't be able to escape again.

But Dick wasn't done by any means. He was just biding his time. The trick was to not bide it so long that he found himself suddenly thrust at Zucco's feet.

He frowned as he thought about that. He had told Alfred that he wasn't afraid of the man, and maybe he was being stupid, but he had been telling the truth. He really _did_ want to confront the man who had murdered his parents. Dick wanted to make him pay for his crime! Allowing the men to take him to Zucco would answer the burning question of where Zucco was holing up, but being surrounded by four or five men intent on ending him would not give Dick the advantage he would need to take Zucco down.

As much as it seemed a good idea; he wasn't so far caught up in his anger that he didn't realize the danger of pushing their confrontation into happening before Dick was prepared. What good would it do him if he was killed before exacting his revenge? Zucco would have managed to finish his job and still go free!

So, no . . . Dick wouldn't be seeing Zucco today; not if _he_ could help it.

"What the hell?" Mitch turned around and glared down at them. "What's wrong with him?"

Tony shrugged his shoulders. "He banged his shin on the step." He tugged on Dick's sleeve a couple of times, halfheartedly. "Come on, get up! You're alright."

Jerry leaned against the wall and laughed as he glared down at the boy. "Yeah, trust me, this ain't nothing compared to what you _will_ _be_ feeling later on."

"Shut up," Rollie told him.

"What? Why are you taking up for him now?" Jerry snatched Rollie's new cigarette out of his lips and stole a puff. "Ain't gonna change things none, you know."

Rollie snatched his cigarette back and slapped the side of Jerry's head lightly.

"Hey!"

"You're an idiot, you know that?" Rollie said, holding his cigarette out to the side away from the other man. "Taunting the kid isn't going to make him cooperate with us."

Jerry scoffed. "He already knows where this is going to end," he said; his voice lowering dangerously.

Dick could hear them talking, and Jerry was right. He knew exactly what was planned for him, but what Jerry didn't know was that Dick had plans of his own; plans that didn't include meeting Zucco, or allowing Jerry to stab him with his switchblade.

He dropped his head down onto his knees and cried harder.

"Aw, jeez," Mitch leaned down and yanked his head up. "Shut up already! You're not hurt _that_ bad!"

"Maybe he's scared?" Tony swatted Mitch's arm away. "You got to admit, he's got a good reason for it. Come on, kid," he said, and scooped Dick up in his arms.

He looked up at the disbelieving faces of his friends. "What?" He challenged them. "You want to hurry him up? Well, it's faster this way."

Mitch rolled his eyes and turned back in the direction they had been headed. "Don't just stand there gawking," he snapped. "Get going! I don't want to be out in the hall any longer than I have to."

On the fifth floor, Rollie turned down the hallway. He led them to furthest door on the left. Dick watched as he pulled out his keys and opened the door. He stepped back and let the others come inside before shutting and locking it behind them.

Dick rolled his head on Tony's shoulder to get a better look and sighed with a shudder. Rollie had locked two more deadbolts and slid a chain that was too high for Dick to reach without having to climb or jump. He could easily undo it all, but not before one of the men would be on him. He would need to look for another way.

Playing up his weak and pathetic act, Dick tucked his head into Tony's neck and closed his eyes as if he had fallen asleep.

Rollie followed Tony into the living room. "Kid's out cold," he commented. "Guess this was a little more excitement than he's used to."

It was all the boy could do not to snort at that. He was used to so much more than this; just not being around guns or the people who liked to use them. He was careful not to move, however, and ruin the act.

* * *

Jerry had sat down on the rundown sofa and was currently playing with his switchblade; twirling it shut and back open again. He smiled lazily and patted the cushions beside him.

"Set him down here," he crooned. "Next to me. I'll teach him how to shave."

Tony scowled at him as Rollie looked into the one bedroom.

"Tonya, get your ass up and make us something to eat," he barked at his brother's girlfriend.

Tonya shrieked; yanking the covers up over her nakedness. She grabbed an empty beer can beside the bed and threw it at the door. Rollie laughed and pulled the door closed. The can clunked loudly off of the wood and onto the floor. He opened it back up and waved at her.

"No seriously, Tonya. Get up. We need the room," Rollie told her before turning back to the others. "The kid will be safe in here. The room doesn't have direct access to a fire escape."

The woman shoved her mid-length, bleached blonde hair out of her face. "Get out, Rollie, or I'm calling Bart," she threatened.

Rollie had already closed the door; knowing she would be out quickly despite her temper. Tony suspected Zucco was hiding out in Newtown, and it made sense. The guy had a big-deal uncle over in that town, but to get to him, they were going to need a car.

"You guys need to call before just showing up here," Tonya complained as she stormed out in one of Bart's jerseys and a short robe. She hadn't brushed her hair and her mascara was smudged under her eyes making her look like a raccoon. "You can't just walk in like you own the place, Rollie."

Rollie laughed and shook his keys in her face as she passed by; taunting her. Tonya stomped toward the little kitchen, but stumbled to a halt at the child in Tony's arms.

"Who's the kid?" She asked. "You knock some girl up in middle school, Tony?"

Tony made a face at her, and moved into the other room to lay the kid down on the unmade bed. He picked up the comforter off of the floor and tossed it over him. Mitch leaned against the doorway; watching.

"You'd make a good daddy," he joked.

"Shut up," he snapped at him. "He'll sleep longer and be less trouble if he's warm."

"Whatever," Mitch shrugged; pushing off of the door jamb. "Leave the door open, though, so we can keep an eye on him."

Rollie was shoving the duffels out of sight at the top of the closet; dumping the junk on the shelf down onto the floor to make room when the Mitch and Tony walked out.

"What's in the duffels, Rollie? Does Bart know you're keeping your shit here?" Tonya asked as she pulled out a leftover box of pizza from the night before. She balanced a six-pack on top of the box and set it on the coffee table.

Mitch grabbed her arm and squeezed; making her squeal and fight his grip. "Don't you go looking where you don't belong, bitch! Those bags are mine!"

"Let go of me," she huffed when Mitch finally released her. She rubbed her arm and moved out of the way; walking back over to the bedroom to finish getting dressed.

Tony blocked her with an arm. "Don't wake the kid," he warned before letting her through.

"I have half a mind to call Bart on you guys," she muttered. "He'd kick all your asses."

Tony ignored her. They all knew Bart treated her worse than they did. Tonya tiptoed in and grabbed her jeans and underwear off of the floor beside the bed. She paused long enough to get a look at the sleeping boy.

She smiled. He was a cute, little thing; all dark hair and rosy cheeks. She was wondering who he belonged to when she saw his eyes twitch. He peeked out from under his lashes at her, and then quickly closed them again.

 _Why, that little faker_ , she thought, grinning.

She glanced over at Tony, but he was paying attention to whatever was going on in the other room. She ran a hand over his dark locks and whispered to him. "It's okay, sweetie. Your secret's safe with me."

Tonya grabbed her phone and headed into the bathroom. She wanted to call Bart and let him know that his little brother and his worthless friends were up to something.

* * *

Batman landed at the mouth of the alley. He couldn't really see the Bentley from here because of the metal dumpster in front of it, but he knew it was there. He moved quickly; jerking open the back door. He didn't want to scare Dick, but he needed to see him; to make sure he was okay. He felt fear rise up at the sight of the empty car.

 _The trunk_? It would be likely for the criminals to lock the boy in the trunk to prevent him from drawing attention while they retreated on foot. He moved to the passenger side and opened the glove box. The small button in there opened the trunk when one's key wasn't handy.

Batman flew to the back; worried when the boy didn't immediately climb out. But one look confirmed that the boy wasn't there either. He glance back at the dumpster with trepidation.

 _Surely not_ . . . But the men had deliberately left people locked in a bank vault to die, and one had shot the policeman on the scene. The officer hadn't died, but not for lack of trying. He had no doubt that the robber had shot him with the intention of killing the man outright. Why would they hesitate at murdering a child?

He flung the lid to the dumpster back with a loud clang! Batman flung several bags to the sides, wondering if the men would have taken the time to hide the body beneath the trash or not. But there was no sign of the boy here either. Frustrated, he turned around; ignoring the startled looks of the people passing by. It wasn't like this neighborhood hadn't been a part of the Batman's patrols. They were surprised purely because Batman was never seen this early in the day. No, it was normally after dark before people started looking for a shape within the shadows that was the Batman.

A glance at the security footage from the bank had showed him the men he was looking for. That paired with a dark haired boy should make it easy to spot them. He pulled out his grapple and sailed up to the rooftops once again. The six and seven story buildings put him high enough to see far into the distance. There was no sign of a group of men like the ones he was looking for.

He started running . . . How far behind them was he? Had they holed up inside of one of these buildings? Had they waved down a cab?

No, he thought. Not a cab . . . The driver would have noticed the duffels and realized the boy was being held against his will. What he needed was someone who had witnessed their passing. He doubted the men could have gotten far without someone noticing them; the trick would be getting someone to admit to it, however. Most of the people in this area tended to hear little and see less. It was safer that way, but Batman had a way of prying the answers to his questions out of people.

Two blocks down, Batman spotted a few homeless leaning up against one of the buildings in an effort to block the wind and keep warm. It was too early in the day for them to go to the homeless shelters, but they would be making their way there soon. The shelters' limited space meant they took people on a first come, first serve basis.

Batman dropped down in front of them; partly to make an entrance in order to better intimidate and partly because he was in too big of a hurry. Dick was counting on him . . .

The startling and intimidation worked a little too well, and the men scrambled in two directions. He ran to the left and caught the man within a couple of yards. Batman shoved the man into the wall with enough force for him to realize that he meant business, but not enough to harm. These weren't the men he was looking for, after all.

"I'm looking for four men with a little boy," he growled into the middle-aged man's face. "They would be carrying two duffel bags and the boy's jacket is orange."

Not bright orange, but more like a burnt orange like the leaves in fall. The boy had wanted another bright red jacket, but they were out of his size. Alfred had told him this on the evening that he had brought the new coat home. Dick had been ecstatic and beyond grateful for the gift, however, and had worn the coat happily. He still tended to get cold easily; unused to the harsh winters of the north. He wondered if the boy was warm now, tromping all over Gotham City . . .

"Answer me," he snarled. "Have you seen them?"

The homeless man glance in either direction. Batman understood his caution. Stool pigeons tended to have short lifespans. His friend, however, had disappeared. Batman leaned in closer; using his bulk to hide the man's lower face from anyone who happened to be watching from the surrounding windows.

"Tell me," he said, softly now.

"T-They went thataway," the man indicated the direction with his head. "Turned left two blocks down. I-I don't know anything else."

"How long ago?"

"I-I don't know. L-Less than an hour ago, maybe," the man stammered.

"The boy," he growled; allowing his anger to surface. "Was he hurt?"

The man blinked. "Uh, n-no. I don't think so. One of the men was kind of dragging him by his arm. H-He looked a little scared, but he wasn't actually struggling that I could see."

"He wasn't fighting them?"

"N-no. Not really. Y-You could see he didn't want to go with them, but he wasn't making a fuss about it."

"Did they say anything as they passed by?"

"I, uh, I didn't hear anything." The man looked down to his left. A telltale sign of lying.

Batman slammed him into the wall, harder this time. "What did they say?" The threat was back in his voice.

"I didn't hear much . . . One of them said something about Bard or maybe Bart. Some guy he knew that lived near here. B-But you didn't hear that from me! The Easties would kill me!" The man trembled and shrank as much as the wall behind him and Batman's grip on his jacket would allow.

Batman's eyes narrowed. Now he was getting someplace.

He stepped back and released him. His fingers touched his belt and dropped a bill from a hidden pocket. He dropped it to the sidewalk; his cape hiding the movement and protecting the bill from the wind.

"Slide down to the ground," he instructed.

When the man obeyed, Batman turned and shot a grapple line across the street and hit the recoil that would allow him back onto the safety of the rooftops. Batman didn't watch the man as he quickly grabbed the bill left for him. The homeless fellow tucked it safely under his jacket to look at later; relieved that it was over.

On the rooftop, Batman started moving as he tapped into his communications. Alfred would be home by now and monitoring the computer.

"A, I need you to look up a name for me. Bart or Bard . . . Cross reference with the Irish Easties. I need an address. It should be somewhere near the Narrows or its bordering areas."

"I take it then you haven't found the boy yet, sir?" Alfred's voice came over the com link.

"No, but take heart, Agent A. He was seen about less than an hour ago, and appeared to be unharmed at the time. I believe he may have been taken to this Bard/Bart's apartment," Batman told him.

"Thank heavens."

There was a pause where he knew Alfred was typing in the information he needed. It wasn't long before his voice sounded in his ear.

"I have a record of a Bartholomew Dempsey, sir. He was arrested for possession of an illegal substance a year ago. The amount was small enough that he was charged with a misdemeanor and was out in six weeks. He has ties with the Irish Easties and his last recorded address is indeed near the Narrows; 418 East 38th street, apartment 5-D." Alfred recited for him.

"That's the one," Batman growled with satisfaction. He was only five blocks from there.

"Bring him home, sir," Alfred told him.

"If all goes well, we'll be home before dinner," Batman said before cutting communications.

He started running again with renewed purpose. While they were traveling, Dick would have been relatively safe from harm; but once the men who took him felt secure in their surroundings, that could change in a heartbeat.

* * *

The banging on the door had everyone jumping. Tonya ran to unlock it even as all four of the men in the living room pulled out their weapons.

"Don't open it," Mitch hissed at her.

"It's Bart," she insisted over her shoulder as she flipped the locks. She pulled the door open and Rollie's older brother strode into the room.

Had it been Bart alone, the tension might have gone down a bit, but he came in with two more men with him; each wearing a clover green bandanna around their neck or upper arm that declared the gang with which they were affiliated.

"What the hell's going on here, Rollie? Why are you bringing your low-life friends to my place?" Bart stepped into his brother's space; causing the younger man to back up until he fell down into a ratty chair in the corner. "I hear you four are stowing your stuff here now. Is that right?"

Mitch glared at Tonya where she was standing near the kitchen. She stuck her tongue out at him.

One of the men that came in with him opened the closet door and yanked down the duffel bags. "Just like Tonya said, Bart," the tall redhead told him.

"Open it up, Keagan," Bart ordered. "Let's see what little brother brought me."

Mitch pulled his gun and pointed it at Keagan's head. "That is mine," he yelled. "Touch it and I _will_ kill you."

Tonya screamed and dove behind the counter into the kitchen.

Keagan smirked. "You think you're going to shoot me with your little BB gun?"

The third man grabbed Jerry by the neck and dragged him over the back of the sofa. "Shoot and I'll finish what his little bitch started."

Rollie jumped to his feet. " _Leave him alone, Ewan_!"

Bart grabbed Rollie's shirt and yanked him close. " _No one_ brings heat into my place without my okay!"

"Right, right, Bart, I'm sorry," Rollie told him. "Come on, Mitch. Put it up."

Mitch swung his piece around toward Rollie and Bart. " _I told you this would happen. Didn't I say this would happen_? Your brother doesn't have your back, Rollie. Those assholes over there are his brothers now!"

Rollie ducked his head. "Watch where you're pointing that thing!"

Keagan shook his head and started to reach down to unzip the bag again. Tony pulled out his own piece and pointed it at his head.

"I don't think I could miss at this range, Keagan," he said calmly.

"You wouldn't," Keagan sneered. "You'd have the entire Easties down on your head. You wouldn't be safe anywhere."

Tony lifted an eyebrow. "You might make a mess, but I'm pretty sure it would wash out. Your choice."

Ewan held his knife to Jerry's throat. " ** _PUT THE GUNS DOWN_**! **_I WILL SLIT HIS THROAT, I SWEAR IT_!** "

Tony glanced over quickly but returned his gaze to Keagan. "You should know better than to bring a knife to a gunfight, Ewan. I would avenge him just as soon as I popped this motherfucker! Are you ready to die today because I'd knock you both off before you could do more than scratch an itch with that thing."

Mitch pointed his gun at Ewan and then back at Bart. "That's _our_ stuff. I swear to _fuck_ you touch our stuff and I will put a bullet between your eyes!"

Rollie sat back down in the chair. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. "You are such an _asshole_ , Bart! Mom would be rolling in her grave right now if she could see this! But keep it up, man, and you can explain it all to her in person."

Bart glared at each of them, but raised his hands up in the air. "Let the little shit go, Ewan."

Ewan tightened his grip, but after a tense moment, shoved Jerry into the back of the couch. "You don't know how lucky you are, you little prick."

Jerry pushed himself up and started laughing. "Little prick? What? Overcompensate much?"

Ewan's face turned red with anger, but his eyes flicked to Bart's and he put his knife away. "You four are dead men," he promised. "Walking dead men."

"Whatever. This was a bad idea, Rollie," Tony said with disturbing calm. He kicked one of the duffles to Mitch, and the other to Jerry. "Rollie, get the kid and let's go. We can find out what we need at Milo's"

Rollie sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He bumped his brother's shoulder as he walked by him. "I'm through with you, Bart."

Bart narrowed his eyes. "What kid?"

"That's none of your business, Bart," Tony told him. "We'll take our kid and our bags, and then we're leaving."

* * *

Rollie pushed the door open where it had been partially closed. He frowned. Had Tonya closed it up? He moved over to the lump under the covers; a little surprised that the boy hadn't woken up from all the yelling going on. He tugged the comforter back and stared.

Pillows . . .

"Oh, shit! _Shit_ ," he yelled. " _Damn it_!"

"What's going on," Tony barked at him from the other room. "Hurry up and get the kid! Let's go!"

Rollie looked around the bedroom before jerking open the bathroom door. He ripped the shower curtain off and glared at the empty bathtub. He ran back in the room and looked under the bed and in the closet. _Nothing_!

Breathing hard, he stared at the window near the bed. The table in front of it had been carefully cleared off; its items now sitting on the floor. The window was closed, but on closer inspection, Rollie could see that it had been unlocked.

" _Fuck_!" He tossed the table out of his way; kicking the bottles and clock in the process. He shoved up the window and looked out. "What the fuck!"

Jerry stepped into the room. "What's going on? What's taking you so long?" He glanced around the mess. "Where's the kid?"

"No way! There ain't no _fucking_ way," Rollie was yelling; hanging out the window.

There was nothing to stand on outside of the window! Nothing, that was, except for the window's tiny ledge, but it wasn't even five inches in width with the window closed. He glanced to the side and saw the fire escape. There was a ten foot gap between the ledge and the fire escape! How could this kid climb out, close the window without falling, let alone leap the ten feet to the fire escape beyond?

 _It was impossible_!

Rollie finally looked down and spotted him near the bottom; balancing on the railing. The kid looked up at that moment and met the man's gaze. With a smirk, he stuck his tongue out at Rollie, and then leaped into the air some fifteen feet above the ground; performing two perfect somersaults. The kid rolled with the landing and came to his feet already running toward the street! He scooped up his coat that had been lying on the pavement below the window as he went. He was heading in the direction of the active construction site barely visible from where Rollie still stood.

He pounded the window sill with his fist. " _ **Damn it**_ **!** "

"What is it? What the hell?" Jerry answered his own question a second after looking down at the alley.

The boy paused only to look both ways before darting across the road. Rollie spun around and was out the door before Jerry could lean back into the room.

"The kid's gone! He escaped out of the fucking window," he yelled as he barreled around Tony toward the door. "Mitch, Jerry, take the fire escape. Tony, come on! He's heading towards the construction site down the street!"

Tonya, the cause of it all, stuck her head out of the kitchen doorway as Rollie passed. He put his hand over her face as he shoved her backward onto her ass. Rollie didn't even stop to watch her tumble into the refrigerator, but yanked open the door and ran out.

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **The chase is on . . .**


	3. The Chase

**I am including a link at the end of this with just one of the videos that I used as my inspiration for some of the action scenes in this. It was a struggle to try and describe everything in a way that you could follow. If you have trouble still, or are just curious, then check out the video and it will all make sense.**

 **WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE and PERIL . . . Watch for POV changes. There are a few.**

* * *

After the woman left the bedroom, Dick slid carefully out of the bed. He kneeled on the floor while positioning the pillows and tucking the comforter around them. Then he crawled along the floor to the door. They were talking about him, but he didn't care what they were saying. He wasn't going to be here, so it wouldn't make any difference.

He pushed the door partially closed. It would have to be good enough. Dick knew that if he closed it completely, someone would notice. He just needed a little bit of time. If he stuck close to the bed, he could walk now without being seen. He moved straight to the window.

The table in front of it was loaded with stuff. He didn't want to make anything fall. It might make someone come in to check on him. So, he moved each item; setting it out of his way until the table had been cleared.

He looked out the window. No fire escape . . . Just like Rollie had said earlier, but that didn't necessarily mean he couldn't get down. Looking to the front of the alley, Dick could just make out a construction site. There were likely a few people there working despite it being winter. Part of the lower floors looked almost complete, but the top several stories were just floors or only girders. That was where he would go for help, he decided.

Looking the other way, he could see the fire escape. It was about ten feet from the window. His feet were small enough to stand on the window's ledge. From there he thought he could jump it if he flew flat out and caught the railing with his hands. Just like at the circus when he would catch the trapeze bar!

Dick started to push the window up when a there was loud banging on the door to the apartment. He jumped a little; the sound startling him, but when no one rushed into the room after him, he continued what he was doing. Worried he'd be interrupted, Dick moved more quickly. His coat was going to be a problem, he realized right away. It was too thick! It would push him off the ledge, and restrict his movement.

He unzipped it and shrugged it off; shivering a little in the breeze. He glanced behind him. The cold might alert someone that he was awake and up to trouble, or even blow the bedroom door completely closed. First dropping the coat out the window, Dick climbed onto the ledge. He would retrieve it when he reached the bottom, but he would need to move fast before the cold could make him clumsy. He adjusted his stance as he slid the window closed behind him.

Judging the distance, Dick placed his feet. This wasn't anything beyond what he did with the trapeze. The only difference was that he didn't have any momentum to help him make the distance. He could do this, he told himself. If he didn't, he would fall and die, just like his parents had. But if he stayed here, he would die anyway.

Better to risk death for his freedom and a chance at life.

Someone was yelling really loud inside. Had they discovered him missing already?

Without thinking, Dick jumped; lunging across the distance with his hands outstretched. A second later they slapped the metal railing; his grip firm as his body swung freely. The railing was so cold, it felt like it burned his skin. He was only a foot above the railing below him. He allowed himself to drop down to it. His landing was perfect. Standing on the rail was easier even than balancing on a tightrope, he noted.

Dick smiled. This was way faster than taking the steps, and he wouldn't have to cross in front of somebody's window to do this. As he crouched on the bottom rail, he heard someone yelling again, but this time the voice was louder; like it was outside with him. He glanced up and met the gaze of Rollie . . . Rollie, who was cursing a blue streak. Dick's mouth dropped open a little. The guy sounded _really_ angry.

Dick smirked. _Good_ , he thought. _Let him be angry_!

Dick stuck his tongue out at the man. He showed off with a couple of somersaults as he leapt to the ground. Running over, he scooped up his coat; not noticing when his Rubik's Cube fell out of his coat pocket. He threw the coat on as he went; sending up a silent thank you for Alfred. This was much warmer than his little red jacket his mother had bought him just year ago.

He stopped only to check for traffic before darting across the street and heading toward the construction site. He knew that those guys wouldn't give up that easily, however. They would be chasing him. He wanted to stop and ask for help, but his captors had already proven to be killers. Dick couldn't risk people's lives like that, he decided. But he could use the construction site to hide until they either gave up or he could slip away unseen.

This was the sort of place that played up to Dick's strengths, he knew. They wouldn't be able to catch him here. A yell told him that the men were already on his tail.

 _Yeah_ , he thought with a smirk. _Come, and get me_!

* * *

"Are you going to let your punk brother and his friends get away with that?" Ewan ranted.

He was furious, but Bart was looking outside as two of Rollie's friends clambered down the fire escape after some kid. Bart turned around; yelling at Tonya.

"Who's that kid, and why are they after him?"

Tonya limped out of the kitchen, and leaned against the wall; pouting. "I don't know. I overheard them talking about heading to Milo's Bar to ask after some guy in Newtown. They had wanted to borrow a car to go there."

"Newtown?" Keagan laughed. "Nothing much there."

Bart ignored him to concentrate on his girlfriend. "What guy? Did you catch a name?"

Tonya rubbed the back of her head and looked at her hand. No blood, but she had a knot from hitting it against the cabinet. She looked at her boyfriend as he stepped in front of her. He should have been asking if she was okay rather than after some loser from a crappy town like Newtown.

"Think, Tonya," he snapped. "What's the guy's name?"

"I don't know. Succo or something like that," she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Zucco?" Bart grabbed her arms.

" _Ouch_! Don't be so rough, sweetie," Tonya squirmed. Her arm still ached where Mitch had grabbed her earlier.

"Answer me! Were they talking about Zucco?" Bart yelled at her.

Tonya flinched. "Yeah, that's it. A guy named Zucco. Said something about taking the kid to him. Maybe he's his kid," she muttered. "Maybe he ran away from home or something?"

Bart shoved her aside as he ran back to the still-open window. "Ewan, you packing something other than a blade?" He needed to see where they went.

The redhead laughed. "You know I prefer to work up close and personal-like."

He snapped at Keagan. "Give him one of yours. I know you got two on you."

Keagan pulled a snub-nose out of his ankle holster, and tossed it to Ewan. "What gives?"

"Remember me telling you about that hit that was out for that circus kid?" Bart yanked out his own nine and checked the magazine. He pulled a drawer out from one of his end tables and took out two more; stuffing one of them in his pockets and tossing the other to Keagan.

"What about him?" Keagan checked his own load. He shoved the extra magazine in his jacket pocket.

"I think my idiot brother may have found him," Bart told them. "Come on," he threw a leg outside of the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. "We need to get that kid first. He's worth a cool mil to whoever brings his corpse to Zucco or his uncle in Newtown."

Tonya had sat down on the sofa. She looked up. "That little boy? You're going to off that little kid?"

Bart peeked his head back through after his mates climbed out after him. "Didn't you hear me? A _million_ dollars! Baby, I'd off my own grandmother for that kind of money."

"I thought it was five hundred thousand Gs, he was offering," Keagan said as he moved to the window.

Ewan frowned. "I heard it was two-fifty."

"Zucco upped the ante a couple of weeks ago when no trace of him had been found," Bart told them. "The guy's getting desperate."

They were laughing as they clattered down the fire escape after the others; talking about what they'd do with their share of the money.

Tonya shivered; getting up to close the window after they were gone. That was a _lot_ of money, she thought to herself, but killing a kid . . .? She shuddered, but this time not from the cold. She didn't doubt that Bart could kill his grandmother for money; and suddenly felt kind of bad for the shit storm that was about to descend on Rollie and his friends now.

Well, not Mitch, she decided. Mitch deserved whatever he got. But Tonya certainly had no illusions about Bart's own loyalty to her if someone decided to offer him money to get rid of her. He'd do it for a _hell_ of a lot less than this amount!

She marched into the bedroom and started pulling out clothes to pack. She couldn't stay here; not after this! God! Look at her! Her hands were shaking she was so upset! But after a few minutes her movements slowed as she realized that she didn't have any other place to go. If she left him, Bart would still kill the kid and collect his money anyway. Her leaving wouldn't make a difference to anyone but her.

Sighing, Tonya sat on the bed and chewed her lip. A million dollars was a lot of money, though . . . _a lot_! And some of those other bitches that was always trying to hang around Bart and his friends would just step in and enjoy all that money in her place. She glanced out the window, but couldn't really see anything, but the other building from her position.

The boy would be dead within the hour. Nothing Tonya did would save him now, even if she had it in her to try. She didn't, though. Her life sucked, but she had no desire to eat a bullet for _anyone_ , let alone some strange kid she didn't even know.

After a moment, Tonya wiped the dampness from her eyes; probably smearing her mascara again, and stood up. Slowly, she gathered up her clothes and shoved them back into the drawers. She moved to the nightstand and rummaged through its contents until she found their last joint. She grabbed up the lighter and lit up it up. After a few minutes and as many drags, Tonya felt the muscles in her shoulders and back finally release their tension.

A million bucks was a lot of money . . .

She sat back down on the bed and leaned against the wall; wiping away what she knew would be the last tear she would ever shed. Her hands had stopped shaking at some point. She drew in another long drag from her joint and closed her eyes. The boy wasn't the only one dying today, after all.

The last piece of her soul had just died with him.

* * *

Dick ran past the open gate and into the construction zone. A guard stationed at the gate yelled at him.

"Hey, kid! You can't go in there," he shouted; trying to climb to his feet from his reclined position.

"Call the police," Dick yelled back at him as he flew past.

He ducked under some two by fours that two men were carrying and took a left. Another construction worker saw him and tried to intercept him, but Dick leapt to the right; stepping on a stack of bagged concrete, and propelled himself over the man's head as he stumbled off balance. Dick landed behind him into a forward roll and kept running.

He had to see if he could lose his pursuers and then hide until the police came. He flipped over a wheelbarrow, and dodged the hands of another guy as Dick used the man's back to roll across. He saw a window opening in the partially completed wall that didn't have the glass inserted yet. Grabbing the sill, Dick flung himself through it and into the building feet first, putting them through the gap between his arms in what his mother had used to call a cat's pass. He did another forward roll to compensate for his balance, and came up running as soon as both feet were back on the concrete foundation.

He skidded to a halt and darted toward a newly installed window to look out. All four of his kidnappers ran through the gate next; arriving almost simultaneously. The guard was on his phone when he saw them. As he started walking towards the four, Mitch pulled out his gun and shot into the space between the man's feet. The guard stumbled backward, then turned and ran. Dick didn't blame him, nor any of the workers that he saw making a run for it.

"Spread out! Find him!" Dick could hear Mitch's voice as it carried through the unfinished walls in the midst of all the construction noise.

Shoot! He couldn't just sit here! They would be here any minute . . . He looked around and saw the scaffolding lined up on the far side of the building. The upper floors weren't complete yet; some areas only had a few beams in place. Dick wasn't afraid of heights, however. He smirked; wondering if these guys were.

But he didn't want to go too high, he determined. There was no place to hide up at the top; no shelter if his kidnappers decided to shoot at him.

"There he is," Jerry yelled.

Dick bolted.

The pounding of feet was coming up behind him. Suddenly, Dick leapt up into a side flip; taking him up and over the top of two sawhorses. He spun as he landed and sprinted toward his goal. A sound of crashing told him Jerry wasn't quite as lucky.

Dick chanced a glance back and saw that Jerry, unable to stop in time or avoid the obstacles, had attempted to hurdle the wooden sawhorses, but had been unable to successfully clear them both. He had crashed down onto his face; the wooden structures falling on him in a painful tangle.

Tony rounded the corner from the other side of the elevator lift in an effort to cut Dick off. Veering to the right, Dick climbed the stacks of two-by-fours and did a forward flip completely over Tony's head with plenty of clearance to spare. He came down in a roll and was back up as Tony nearly lost his footing in an effort to do a one-eighty turn on a dime.

By this time, Dick had vaulted through the metal scaffolding closest to him and grabbed the bars on the other side; using his momentum to swing his body upward hard. Letting go, Dick flew up and over, landing on the platform above on his feet.

 _And the crowd roared_ . . . Dick grinned. He hadn't lost his touch!

A gunshot splintered the wood near his feet and reminded Dick forcefully of where he was. _Whoops_! He bounded over the lip of the floor joists and onto the second floor. The elevator was rising from below! Was that Tony?

A clang sounded on the scaffolding; telling Dick that Tony was clambering up after him with his gun still in his hand. He guessed Tony had changed his mind about taking Dick to Zucco alive. Dick ran to the elevator and placed his hands on the top of the rising car. He did a handstand and held it as he allowed the elevator car to lift him upward to the third floor; its passenger not realizing he had a hitchhiker. Tony climbed onto the scaffolding platform just as Dick disappeared through the floor above. He waved to the irate robber in the last second while maintaining his handstand one-handed.

The sound of yelling followed him as he stood back up. The coat was slowing him down, he had noticed; making him clumsy. Shedding the heavy jacket, Dick took off in a new direction.

The third floor had partially erected walls as well and he used these to his advantage. Seeing the rush of construction workers as they poured down off of the upper floors toward the ground, Dick thought to follow them when he noticed Rollie climbing up by ladder. Dick turned around, but the lift was rising again; getting ready to deposit another of his kidnappers.

Not good. If he wasn't careful, the bad guys would corner him. He looked to the side and noticed a beam extended several feet beyond the outer edge of the floor. A rope dangled from somewhere above him. Dick shot forward just as Mitch emerged from the elevator. Rollie, off to the side, ran at him; intending to cut him off.

Rollie lunged at Dick, and the boy cut back abruptly; spinning about in a circle as the man flew passed him. Rollie tumbled across the floor and slammed into a stack of plywood while Dick completed his turn and continued as if nothing had happened. The boy grabbed the rope and swung out. Whatever held it wobbled above him, but he was already swinging back toward the building by this time. Dick let go and flew through an uncompleted window opening and back onto the second floor. He ran flat out across to the other side; figuring that the men would come after him where they had last seen him.

He spotted the half-finished stairs as he rounded a wall. He started to head down, but caught himself as Jerry appeared at the foot of the stairs. He threw his knife at Dick, but the boy had lunged to the side and rolled to his feet; scrambling to climb up again, instead of down.

Up was his only option now!

* * *

Batman landed on the roof of the building he was looking for. Alfred confirmed the location of the apartment based upon the building plans filed with the city. As he peered over the edge he saw one window entrance from the fire escape and another on the corner that would lead into what was deemed the main living space. Off to the left of the fire escape was a window into the bedroom.

He suspected Dick was being held there. Although he wanted to corral the robbers that took him, it was more important to remove Dickie from danger. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to be hurt in the altercation, and the boy's safety took precedence over any monies stolen from the bank.

He attached his line and lowered himself over the edge of the building; past the two upper floors to the one he wanted. He couldn't see the boy through the window. If Dick was being kept in the living room, it would still be in the boy's best interest for Batman to enter here in order to survey the outer room and plan his strategy.

He was surprised to discover that the window wasn't locked, but it wasn't suspicious since there was no easy escape route from here and the window was five stories up. He carefully slid the frame up. His first look in the room revealed a bare area below the window, but with numerous items lining the floor nearby.

This was suspicious, and Batman pulled himself through the opening silently, so as not to alarm any of the residents.

He saw her even before he had completely entered the room. Batman's hand had already extracted a gas pellet and his rebreather in case she chose to warn the others. She didn't. The woman looked, at first glance, to be twenty-eight, maybe even thirty, years of age, but as he neared the bed, he reassessed his earlier judgement. She was young, he suspected. Maybe twenty-one instead.

Hard living tended to do that to you. Batman thought that she must have gotten an early start. Most of the young people in this neighborhood did, unfortunately.

His nose twitched as he recognized the smell of marijuana. She was high . . . His quick scan of the room assured him that Dick wasn't present. He didn't like the idea of the boy being exposed to drug use.

He spoke softly. "Where is he? In the other room?"

The woman tilted her head at him and smiled. Batman was losing patience.

"How many are there with him?"

Finally she answered, confirming that she knew exactly whom he was asking about. His information had been correct. The men had brought the boy to this location.

"No one," she hummed pleasantly.

He frowned. Had they left him here with her alone? Batman moved swiftly to the door and stole a glance. She had been correct. The room was empty, but not only of the four kidnappers, but of Dick, also.

He swung around, anger and fear warring within him. Had they already taken him to Zucco? He had been searching for months and other than narrowing it down to Newtown; Batman had no idea where the man was hiding. If Dick was gone; this woman was his only hope of finding him before the unthinkable happened!

He placed one knee on the bed; grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She winced, and Batman's eyes narrowed. He hadn't gripped her _that_ hard. Apparently, someone had already been rough with her today. He knew women like this, however, and sympathy would likely just as easily get him killed while dealing with her. Not that it mattered . . . Time was of the essence. Dick's survival was paramount in his mind.

"Where is he? Where did they take him?"

"Who?" She smiled at him again.

He growled. "Don't play stupid. Where did they take the boy?"

"Nowhere," she giggled.

Batman grabbed her by the throat; squeezing, slowly but inexorably, so she understood his strength, and asked her again.

"Where is the boy," he snarled menacingly into her face. "Tell me now if you value you your life."

She glanced toward the window.

"Gone," she sighed. The marijuana in her system had dulled her senses.

He squeezed until she wheezed. "Where!"

"Out the window," she gasped; the tiniest bit of awareness finally seeping into her gaze. "He escaped . . . out the . . . window."

He blinked; his eyebrows rising in surprise beneath his mask as his hand loosened.

Escaped?

His lips twitched, and he released her.

"And the men who had kidnapped him? Where are they?"

"They went after him," she admitted; one pale hand stroking her throat.

"When?" He barked.

"A few minutes ago," she said. "A half an hour? You just missed them."

"There's a big difference between a few minutes and a half an hour! Which is it?"

"I don't know . . ." She looked confused.

He had just missed the boy; by thirty minutes at the most!

Batman spun about; dashing back to the window. He could barely see the construction site from here, but he did notice the sudden exodus of construction workers as a dozen men poured out of the gate. He saw three men standing just inside; not running, but surveying the property . . . looking for something, or someone.

He touched the side of his cowl and the telescopic lenses slid down over his eyes; focusing on the suspects. They looked different, and none of the men in the video had been a redhead. Nor had any of them been wearing anything that claimed gang affiliation. Whoever these men were, they weren't the four bank robbers that had carjacked his Bentley or kidnapped his ward.

His head snapped around. "Who are the other three men?"

She knew exactly what he was talking about. She shook her head. If Batman interfered, Bart wouldn't get the money . . . If she sang for the Bat, Bart would likely kill her.

But . . . But she would keep her soul.

"Bart," she whispered.

"How is he connected to the robbery? Talk! Now!"

She frowned. What robbery? "He's not . . . He's Rollie's brother. Rollie and his friends brought the kid here. They went after him when they discovered he had escaped, but Bart and his friends went after the boy, too."

"For what purpose?" He demanded.

"So, that they could collect the money for the kid." She shuddered.

Batman swung his leg out the window. He had to get to Dick before the others!

"Hurry!" the woman cried out, but he was already outside; repelling down the side of the building. "Bart and his friends . . . They won't bother to try to catch him," she warned, shoving her upper body out of the window to call down to him. "They'll just shoot him!"

As Batman dropped to the ground, his foot bumped into a children's toy. His eye caught sight of the colorful cube. He had seen Dick playing with this at breakfast! As he scooped it up, he heard the gunshots. Then he was running.

The woman's voice called out behind him. "Save him, Batman!"

He planned on it. Batman shot his grapple to the roof of the building across the street. The adjacent brownstone stood next to the construction site. He would get a bird's eye view as he determined his next course of action.

* * *

Dick ran up the stairs past the third floor and onto the fourth. Jerry was following, but not as closely as he might have before his run in with the sawhorses. At the top of the steps, Dick saw a bucket. A quick look showed him that it was full of bolts for securing the girders. There were only a few of those on this floor.

The bucket was too heavy for Dick to lift, but he spun about into a seated position behind it, and as soon as Jerry appeared at the bottom, Dick kicked the metal bucket with both feet. The bucket tipped, and suddenly hundreds of bolts went spilling down the stairs; rolling underfoot. Jerry's feet flew out from under him. As he crashed down onto the stairs, his chin hit the step and he was assaulted by flying pieces of metal.

Dick sprang up prepared to run up to the next floor when a bullet struck the wooden stairs in front of him. Splinters flew up. Dick cover his face with his hands but his reflexes weren't enough to prevent several shards of wood from cutting his face. None had gotten in his eyes, however, and Dick sent up a prayer of thanks to his guardian angel.

But he couldn't remain exposed like this. He turned and ducked through another partial wall. The 'room' he had run into had exposed beams overhead still, so Dick ran at the corner wall and used his momentum to run up the newly-installed drywall. He managed three full steps and pushed off into the opposite direction; the movement gaining him enough height to grasp the beam that separated the fourth from the fifth floors. Dick swung his feet up and clambered onto it.

The beam was easily a foot in width; more than enough for someone who had learned to walk a tightrope over a year ago. Dick made tracks over it toward the area that had more secure flooring and presented a barrier between him and the guns below him. The stairs stopped here, so when Dick spotted a pipe, he hurried to it; using it to shinny up to the sixth floor.

This floor and the seventh above it were nothing more than exposed metal girders. He could hear Mitch racing up the steps. Talk about exposed! Dick needed a way to get down fast. Going up had seemed like a good idea when the men had been covering all the lower floors, but now that they had caught up to him . . . This was obviously a mistake. There was no place to hide; nowhere left that could provide cover. He was trapped; a sitting duck for the men with guns to pick him off. Just like those arcade games that traveled with the circus . . .

More voices were yelling. Tony and Rollie had caught up to him as well. Catching sight of a discarded tool belt, Dick beelined to it. He found several types of hammers. He picked up one. As soon as Mitch cleared the floor, Dick hurled it at him.

The heavy tool struck Mitch in his chest and caused him to drop his pistol. It struck the step and skittered between the openings betwixt the treads; plunging to the floor below. Mitch rolled down the steps, taking out Tony who had been right behind him. Rollie scrambled over the other two as Dick hightailed it to the other side; leaping from beam to beam as easily as if he had been on open ground.

He saw the suspended platform before him. It held supplies and equipment for the workers; but now just sat there; abandoned in the chaos. The roof to the other building was just on the other side of it. If he could make it there, he might stand a chance of getting away.

He was just about to make the jump when movement caught his eye. A black shape was barreling towards him from across the rooftop; its cape, like wings, flared dramatically in its wake. Dick skidded to a halt; eyes wide.

 _What_ _ **is**_ _that_?!

Dick panicked a moment and turned around; searching for another way down. Something hit his arm; tearing a hole in his sweater and leaving a burning trail. Dick slapped a hand over the wound as he teetered and suddenly disappeared; falling from his perch.

* * *

 ** _Noooo_!**

Batman leapt from the rooftop onto the platform the boy had obviously been preparing to use as well. He had forgotten momentarily that Dick had never seen the Batman before. Only a glimpse of him on the news; a blurry image captured from a traffic camera or ATM. He cursed himself for a fool! Of course, seeing him in person would frighten him!

Pulling a batarang from his belt, he threw it at the man on the floor below. It struck his hand hard; surely breaking a bone or two, as the gun went skittering away. He threw a line onto one of the exposed girders and flew at him like an avenging demon from hell.

His boots struck the man in the chest and sent him flying backward through metal lathing and drywall. His buddies had already ducked back down below; whether to go after the child or to escape his wrath, he didn't know. But the man he had kicked looked down for the count, so Batman rushed to the side of the building that Dick had fallen from; terrified of what he might find.

It was definitely not what he had expected . . .

* * *

Dick knew he needed to get down from there – fast! Those guys weren't taking any chances now and were shooting at him! And then there was that . . . that _thing_ that was bearing down on him like some kind of nightmare! If it were this frightening in the daytime, how much worse would it be to run into it at night?

Next time, if there _was_ a next time, Alfred wanted to take him out into the city, Dick was going to put his foot down. Gotham City was _scary_!

He just wanted to go _home_! But he couldn't . . . He had no home left! The circus had left without him over a month ago. Barring that, Dick would take the manor. Bruce always made him feel safe. He suddenly wished Bruce was there right now. Dick would rush over to the man and beg him to take him home with him; promise him he would never leave the manor again!

The sting and burn caught the boy by surprise.

"Ow," he yelped; slapping a hand over the wound.

Enough of this, he decided. When he had glanced down at his arm, he had seen it. A skinny bit of scaffolding; just enough to hold a couple of men two floors down. Better yet, the bright orange of a debris chute attached to it. The drop was over fifteen feet, but better than being shot dead!

He dove off head first!

Dick tucked his body as he hit the planking that made up the platform hard. It jarred his shoulder and made his teeth clack together, but he rolled with it just like his father had taught him and came to his feet. He caught at the metal railing; hissing a little at the cold against his bare hands. At least with his adrenaline pumping, Dick couldn't feel the cold so much through his sweater, and the burning in his arm had stopped hurting altogether.

The sound of running feet told him had hadn't shaken his pursuers yet. Another abandoned tool belt lay to one side. Dick pulled out another hammer; this one was clawed. He looked at the debris chute and had an idea. He hesitated another moment until he saw Tony and Mitch round the corner. He wanted them to see where he was going this time.

Before Tony could raise his gun, Dick jumped into the chute feet first. He allowed himself to slide only ten feet or so, and then he twisted about; swinging the clawed part of the hammer into the heavy nylon material as hard as he could. He was rewarded with the sound of ripping and felt his body slow as the metal claw split the material and caught. He jerked the hammer out and let himself continue the rest of the way to the dumpster unimpeded.

* * *

" _Damn it_ ," Tony yelled. "That little brat took the chute to the bottom!"

"So, let's go after him!" Mitch charged ahead.

He grabbed the bar on the scaffolding and went through the entrance feet first as Tony leapt in after him. He hadn't slid but a few feet before he felt the support of the material give way beneath him. With a loud ripping sound, the hole opened up and Mitch plunged nearly thirty feet to the frozen ground beneath him.

Tony saw his friend suddenly drop out of the chute and realized what was coming. He tried to grab the sides, but there was nothing but slick, taut material. His stomach rose up to his throat as fell through the hole next. The gunshot was loud when his finger squeezed the trigger as a reflex. He didn't know where the bullet had gone, nor did he care when the air was expelled from his lungs in a rush as he landed on Mitch a second later.

Tony groaned and rolled off of his mate. Mitch, he saw looked hurt pretty bad. Hell, _Tony_ was hurt pretty bad, but his friend had broken the worst of his fall.

 _Damn that kid_ , he snarled in his mind after a couple of minutes. His back and arm throbbed painfully, and his leg . . . God, had he broken some ribs, too?

He turned his head. He couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears and the sound of his own drumming heartbeat, so he didn't know what had caught his attention, but there he was . . . the kid! He was standing a little ways off; staring at him and Mitch with huge, frightened eyes, and Tony realized that the boy had been scared that he might have killed them.

Mitch was moving a little, so the brat hadn't managed that, at least.

Furious, Tony tried to bring his gun up. He'll kill that little shit if it was the last thing he did. But the boy noticed the movement, and Tony's arm wasn't working right. The gun felt like it weighed a ton! The kid's eyes widened even further at the threat, and he lit out around the side of the building; leaving Tony and Mitch groaning on the ground unable to follow.

* * *

Batman vaulted off the edge of what would be the fifth floor. Spreading his cape to slow his descent, he glided down to the ground below. He had seen the boy standing on the scaffolding just before entering the debris chute. The two men chasing him had followed immediately and seconds later, someone screamed.

The scream had been from an adult; not Dick . . . _thank God_!

By the time he had landed, Dick was gone, but the two men were lying on the ground disabled. Batman looked up and saw the tear in the chute nearly thirty feet overhead. How had Dick avoided the fall? His eyes widened as the answer came to him. Dick had made the tear! He had, through his fear, devised a plan and implemented it. Successfully, from the looks of it.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed.

The boy had escaped on his own; had avoided his pursuers for at least thirty minutes all by himself; and disabled two, possibly three, of the men after him. But . . . where was he now?

Batman's head swiveled at the sound of another gunshot. That came from the front of the building. He raced in that direction; leaving the two men to await the police where they lay.

Was it the last of the original four or had this come from one of the three gang members he had glimpsed from the window? The three hadn't bothered to join the chase; obviously allowing the four to do the dirty work and waiting to claim the prize for themselves once the boy had been caught. He was sure they had been as surprised as he was that Dick had outwitted his kidnappers. Unfortunately, it was probable that the boy hadn't anticipated the arrival of the additional men.

If one of them had shot the boy . . . That anger that had been his constant companion since Bruce had been ten years old swelled up in defense of the child. _How dare they_?! How dare anyone try to harm what was _his_ – _damn it_!

He rounded the corner in time to see Dick dart across the busy street; the three gang members hot on his heels. Batman charged after them; his hand dipping into his utility belt as he went. He swung the bolos over his head and released them with deadly accuracy. The bolos entangled the legs of man who had brought up the rear as he tumbled across the pavement and into the street. Cars' tires squealed in order to avoid hitting the runners; swerving in several directions.

Batman's breath caught as one car very nearly hit the boy as he bolted across the road. But Dick performed a magnificent aerial move that brought him up and over top of the hood of the vehicle. His tennis shoes landed on the hood of the car with a loud thump before he executed a perfect somersault off the other side. Dick had hit the ground already running.

He was heading for the small park on the corner.

* * *

Dick had seen the three gang members just seconds before they had seen him. He had dove for cover behind several stacked bags of cement. The muffled whump sounded almost simultaneously with the sound of the gun firing. He rolled but didn't stop. He couldn't stop!

There were three of them! They could easily outmaneuver him; coming at him from both sides and even over top. He had to push on! He hoped that they wouldn't be able to hit him if he kept moving, so Dick burst out from behind the stack with a trio of front flips done as quickly as he could manage without losing control.

It wasn't easy . . . Exhaustion was bearing down on him rapidly now. His lungs, not used to the cold weather, burned as his breath sawed in and out; forming puffs of condensation in front of him. He should have been able to do this longer . . . Being sick had stolen much of his endurance, and he had yet to recover it fully.

Unwilling to re-enter the building with Rollie an unknown factor, Dick spotted a park across the street. He prayed that the gunshots had scared any of the local children away. He wasn't sure he could go much farther.

 _Where were the police_? _Why weren't they here yet_? It felt like forever since the first gunshot had reverberated throughout the neighborhood!

A tan car squealed and skidded on the asphalt, but Dick saw immediately that he wasn't going to be able to avoid it. Instead of swerving, however, he poured on speed he didn't realize he still had and sprang upward with everything left in him. Dick executed a full aerial flip with a twist and came down onto the center of the hood. He instantly somersaulted off of the other side of the vehicle; sprinting the moment he landed.

There was a low wall surrounding the park and the entrance was quite a bit further to the left, at the corner. Dick stuck his hands onto the wall and vaulted over it. He could hear the one of the men chasing him getting closer. Was the guy actually faster than he was or was Dick beginning to slow down? Whatever the reason, he knew he needed to do something before the guy could either shoot or grab him.

 _There_!

The idea came to him as soon as he saw it.

Dick dove into a front handspring and began flipping over and over; hoping his movements would keep the man's attention on Dick and not his surroundings and also, to prevent him from getting a clear shot. As soon as his feet hit the seat of the teeter-totter, Dick sprang up into a triple front tuck; his rotations giving his pursuer the opportunity to lunge for him. But then the boy came down on the other side of the playground equipment; his weight slamming the board down hard and simultaneously raising the board behind him with devastating force.

The end of the teeter-totter smashed into the guy's extended arm; flinging the firearm out of his hand and then slamming into the side of his pursuer's jaw. Dick jumped off of the board and twisted in time to see the redhead crash into the ground; already unconscious. But he was too tired to feel a sense of accomplishment.

His eyes rose to see yet another man rushing at him, and behind him the terrifying creature in the black cape. Exhausted, the boy felt his body slump in disbelief.

 _Who were these people_? _Why wouldn't they leave him alone_?! Tears sprang to his eyes even as he started backing up. Dick managed a few steps, but then he stumbled; sprawling onto the ground on his bottom. He tried to get up, but his legs were shaking so hard that they refused to support him.

He couldn't run anymore . . . He stared death in the face as it bore down on him, too tired to feel fear; too tired even to feel angry at his failure.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to his parents.

He hoped that they could forgive him, but felt a surge of relief that maybe now he would get to see them again. He also felt bad for Bruce and Alfred . . . surprised that his last thoughts would be of them. He hoped that Alfred was okay and that neither man felt too sad for his loss.

The last man raised his gun just as the black-winged thing launched himself through the air and tackled him to the ground.

* * *

The report was loud!

Louder than all the others, but that could have been because of his proximity.

Batman crashed into the last man's back, but his gun had gone off just as he reached him. The two went tumbling across the patches of brown grass and snow. The punk tried to raise his gun again, but Batman snarled and slammed the man's hand down against the ground. The nine millimeter fell away, but this one refused to give up.

He was a large man in his mid-twenties with angry, soulless eyes.

Batman blocked his punches and threw a right across his jaw. The man grabbed at Batman's head and brought up an elbow; slipping past his guard and catching the Dark Knight in the mouth. He spit blood to the side, but in his fury didn't actually notice the damage. This scum and his friends had hunted a child down for the express purpose of murdering him . . . And for what? Money!

He punched the thug in the face again, and again, and then again.

Bruce _had_ money! He had more money than God, but he would have given it all up; every cent of it for the chance to have his parents back! All of it, he would give in a heartbeat, in fact, for the sake of _one_ child . . . _One_ little boy!

 _ **THIS**_ _little boy_!

When he came to himself, the man lay beneath him bruised and battered, but somehow alive. He blinked and shook his head. If his opponent had managed to get another hit in, Batman hadn't felt it. He probably would in the morning.

He could hear the sirens in the background . . . finally.

Suddenly a memory leapt to the fore of his mind.

 _The gunshot_! _Dear God_ . . .

Batman spun about looking for Dick. Had he been shot? Had the bastard taken the boy away from him, after all?

 _Where was he_?!

It took a second. The boy was no longer in the spot he had been in, but he hadn't gone far. Just a few feet further, in fact; pressing himself up against a concrete park bench. He was staring at him; his blue eyes huge in his pale face. He was shivering, but Batman couldn't tell if it were from shock or the cold. He frowned. Where was his coat?

He tasted blood. His tongue darted out and felt the cuts that marred his lips. Batman wiped the blood from his chin and climbed to his feet. He had probably just terrified the child half to death. He walked calmly to where he huddled; pleased when the boy didn't shrink from him; and kneeled.

"Is he dead?" Dick asked this before Batman could say anything.

He glanced over his shoulder at the lump unmoving in the muck. He shook his head.

"No," he growled low in his Batman voice, but softly as he could so as to not frighten the boy any more than he had been already. "He's alive. Despite what you saw, I don't kill."

It was important to him that Dick know this about him. He would never know that Bruce and Batman were the same man, but he didn't want the boy to be afraid of him; in any guise.

Dick stared another moment at his attacker, and then he lifted those amazing blue eyes to him.

"You're him, aren't you? You're Batman," he said. Despite the question, there was certainty in his expression. He already knew. He just wanted him to confirm it.

"I am," he told him.

They were going to need to move soon. The police were about to arrive, and although he should let Dick go with them, so that he go home and change, and await the phone call to pick him up; Batman didn't want to leave him. Emotions were running through him that he didn't recognize. They confused him, and he didn't like being confused.

But he couldn't bring himself to leave the boy so soon after . . . everything.

Batman had called the car to him by remote as he had neared the apartment. It should be near by this time. He lifted his buckle and pressed the control that allowed the car to roll up to the entrance of the park.

"Are you hurt?"

If he was, then he would have to leave him behind so that the paramedics could attend him. He could conceivably take him to Leslie, but the coincidence of his knowing her and knowing to take Dick to her would be too great. And how would he explain Alfred's medical expertise?

Dick shook his head. "No. I don't think so."

"You weren't hit by any of those bullets?" Batman narrowed his eyes on the swath of red on one sleeve of the boy's sweater. He was reaching even as the child covered the wound with his hand.

"It's nothing," he said. "Just a scratch. I'm okay. Just really tired, and maybe a little cold. I lost my coat while they were chasing me."

Batman tugged his cape free and wrapped it around the boy. Dick's fingers peeked out as he felt the heavy material, curiously.

"I should let the police take you home," Batman told him. "Do you need a little help?" He asked as he assisted the boy to his feet.

"Y-You're a good guy, aren't you?" Dick craned his head to look up at him. Batman's hand supported him when the boy wobbled.

"You will never need to fear me," he replied.

Dick nodded as if making up his mind about something, Bruce knew not what.

"I thought so. Why else would you stop the man from shooting me? Although," he continued, "you did look a kind of scary while you were pounding his face in."

This startled a short bark of laughter from him; surprising them both.

"Just kind of?"

Dick smiled hesitantly and shrugged.

Batman pursed his lips; ignoring the sting in the corner of his mouth.

"You were pretty amazing yourself," he told the boy as he led them toward the park entrance; the end of his cape dragging behind them. _Really amazing, in fact_.

The police had swarmed the construction site; none noticing the park's current inhabitants thus far.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Dick glanced up at him shyly.

"What's that?"

"If they hadn't been shooting at me, this would have been fun," Dick grinned. He glanced at the two men still lying unconscious on the ground behind them. "Except for the end," he admitted; his smile slipping away. "I just couldn't run anymore."

As if to emphasis this statement, Dick's knees gave out at that moment and he fell, but he never hit the ground. Batman scooped him up in his arms and settled him on his side above his utility belt.

"S-Sorry," Dick mumbled. His adrenaline had finally crashed.

"No need," Batman assured him. "Let me take you over to the police now, so they can get you back to . . ." he hesitated a second; hating to bring it up, but, ". . . to your parents."

The boy shuddered. "My parents are . . . They're . . . dead." His lip trembled and tears of grief and exhaustion welled up. "I live with Bruce, now."

"Who's Bruce?" Batman asked; curious as to how the boy would answer that.

"He and Alfred take care of me now," Dick sniffled; resting his head on Batman's shoulder. "He's nice to me. I-I miss him," he added softly. "Would you take me to Bruce?"

"The police are going to want your statement," Batman said quietly; hating the look of sadness that filled his eyes.

"Please? I just want to go home now." Tears finally overflowed and leaked down the child's reddened cheeks. "Would you take me home?"

He couldn't say no twice. Batman nodded. "I'm sure that Bruce can take you in to give your statement tomorrow. I'll take you home."

He unlocked the car by remote and deposited Dick on the passenger seat; cape and all. He reached across him to fasten the seatbelt. Abruptly, he remembered the boy's Rubik's Cube. It barely fit in the pouch at his back. Batman tugged the toy free and handed it to him.

Dick's eyes widened in surprise. He had forgotten about it. He would have realized tomorrow sometime that he had lost it, simply because he had thought it was still in his coat pocket somewhere in the construction site.

"How?"

"I saw it in the alley across the street," he said. "I had a feeling it might belong to you. Am I right?"

Dick nodded; too choked up to speak. It was one of the few things he still had from his life in the circus. He would have been very upset to have lost it.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't lose it, then," Batman said as he started to pull away, Dick touched his arm.

"Can I ask you something?"

When Batman did say anything and didn't leave, Dick gathered his courage and plowed on. "You catch bad guys, right?"

"I do my best," Batman murmured.

"Th-There's this bad guy," Dick stammered. "H-His name is Tony Zucco." Dick looked up into his face to see if the man recognized the name, but with the cowl the boy couldn't tell. "H-He killed my parents. That's why I'm staying with Bruce."

Batman nodded once, but remained silent; waiting for the child to ask his question. He wanted him to find Zucco for him. He should have been expecting this. How to tell the boy that he had been combing Gotham City, Newtown, and the surrounding suburbs for the criminal without much luck?

"I was wondering, if it isn't too much trouble," he added quickly, "if you would mind helping me find him?"

Bruce's eyebrows rose at the boy's choice of words. "You want _me_ to help _you_?"

Dick nodded, solemnly. "I could have found him tonight," he told him. "But I wasn't prepared. I would have only ended up dying, and that wouldn't have accomplished anything. But I won't _always_ be unprepared. I have a plan, I think, but I'm going to need a little help with it."

"A little help?" He really needed to stop repeating the boy's words. "With your plan?"

"Please? He killed my parents . . . I _need_ to stop him!" Dick leaned forward with his plea, and the boy's sincerity struck him in the chest.

Batman nodded. "You want revenge."

Dick frowned and looked down at the cube in his hands; turning it over and over. "I-I don't know," he finally said. "I want him to pay for what he did." Though the words were soft, the tone was hard.

"Do you want to kill him?" Batman asked this, curiously.

"I-I did . . ." he admitted hesitantly. "The first few days all I wanted was my parents back, but then . . . I thought about what he did and why he did it, and I was just _so angry_! At that moment, I did." His voice grew harsh and then soft again as he spoke.

"But . . . then I thought that that would make me just like _him_." Dick looked up at the masked man; his feelings right out there for anyone to see. "Don't get me wrong! I _want_ him to pay! I will do _anything it takes_ to make him pay for what he did! B-But I think . . . I think putting him away in jail would do it."

Batman was surprised. These were very grown up thoughts for a boy of eight to have.

Dick scowled as he tried to put his thoughts into words; to do his best to convince the Batman to help him. "I think jail would be enough. He's paying a lot of money to keep me from testifying against him because he doesn't want to go there – to jail. He would pay for what he did in there, and I could make my parents proud by not becoming what he is. And . . . And maybe I could prevent him from doing this again . . . to someone else."

Dick stared at the lenses as if he could see the man behind them. "I don't want this to happen to anybody else. So, could you help me? Just a little bit . . . _Please_?"

Batman stared back at him for a long minute. "You make a very good argument."

"Does that mean you will help me?" Dick looked up hopefully.

"I'll look into it," Batman said simply. "Now, I'll be right back."

Batman closed the door and went to inform one of the officers the location of the two men in the park, and relay the message to their superior that he was taking the child home. He told them that the boy's guardian would see to it they received the child's statement tomorrow.

When he climbed into the car, he glanced over to discover that, despite his passionate plea, Dick had fallen asleep in the few minutes he had taken. The warmth and safety of the car had lulled him into slumber. The cape had fallen away enough that he could see that the boy's hands clutched the puzzle cube in his lap.

 _The poor kid_ . . . Unable to resist, Batman ruffled the boy's hair gently before turning his attention to driving them both home.

* * *

The cold air woke him up. That, and the feeling of being moved. Voices were murmuring softly. Dick lifted his head during the transfer. Alfred was now holding him in his arms and closing the door.

"Wha . . .?"

"Easy there, Master Richard. You're safe now." Alfred told him in his reassuring British accent.

Dick lifted his head and looked around at the foyer. Doctor Leslie was coming from around the hallway towards them. But it was the roar of the big, black car that brought him fully awake.

He gasped and tried to squirm. "Wait," he cried out. "I wanted to thank him!"

"Oh dear," Alfred held on. "I'm afraid that Master Batman has already left, but I'm certain he knew you were grateful for his assistance."

Dick blinked at him and Dr. Leslie.

"Oh, look at those scratches," the doctor tsked as she lightly touched his cheek. "Let's get you cleaned up and checked out, so you can get something to eat and go to bed early. I hear you've had an exciting day."

The sun was already going down. Dick's stomach grumbled at the reminder. He hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast that morning. He wasn't as tired though after sleeping all the way home. He squirmed again to get down; this time Alfred accommodating him and setting him on the floor.

As soon as his tennis shoes touched the marble tile, Dick realized that his Rubik's Cube was missing! It must have fallen out of his lap when Batman picked him up! He looked longingly at the door, but he knew that the car had already driven away. He bit his lip and said nothing, however. He should be grateful enough to be back at the manor and safe again. Batman could keep the toy.

Thinking of it as a gift, Dick felt a little better over the loss. He squared his shoulders, and followed Alfred and the doctor up the stairs to his room. He looked behind him at the empty foyer and frowned.

Where was Bruce? After all this, the boy wanted nothing more than to see his guardian. Hadn't anyone told him that Dick had been kidnapped? It had seemed pretty serious at the time. One would have thought someone would have called the man and told him about it.

He bit his lip and frowned as he thought about this. Was he still in his meetings? Bruce had told him that he cared about him . . . Didn't he? He remembered Bruce telling him that he and Alfred wanted him. He thought Bruce might have even said that he needed Dick, but _caring_ . . .? Was that the same thing? He didn't know.

Dick allowed Alfred to get him in the tub; hissing a bit when his deep scratches on his arm and face were washed. He sat on the bed in his pajama bottoms while Leslie muttered and murmured over the bruises forming on his shoulder and elbow. He had a few fingerprints on his other arm where he had been jerked and hauled around by several of the men who had taken him.

There was a shallow gouge where a bullet had grazed him, but it had stopped bleeding already. Leslie assured him that he didn't need stitches and had bandaged it up for him, and then dabbed ointment onto the scratches on his face from the splinters flying up. She was packing up her bag as Alfred sat on the bed and carefully picked a few splinters out of his fingers.

Dick was watching the older man work over his fingers with a clean needle, when Bruce finally burst into the room.

"Dick! You're home! Thank God!"

Bruce kneeled down in front of him and took Dick's face in his hand gently; turning it this way and that to see for himself what injuries had been done to him, and to determine whether or not the boy was okay. He looked back over his shoulder at Leslie.

"How is he? Was he hurt?" He demanded.

"He'll be fine," she assured him calmly; pausing in her actions to lay a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Some shards of wood had scratched his face, but they are minor. Nothing touched his eyes."

Bruce blinked and stared at the markings; noting how close they had come to damaging those magnificent blue eyes. He ran his thumb over the worst one; so softly that Dick could barely feel it.

"And? Anything else?" His hand stretched out and plucked the soiled sweater from the floor where it lay, waiting for Alfred to whisk it away. "There's blood on this! Where did that come from?"

Dick looked down in surprise. The way he was holding the sweater, Dick couldn't even see the bloodstain he was talking about. How did he know? The bandage, maybe?

"He had a slight brush with a bullet, apparently. Nothing serious," Leslie was quick to add before Bruce could get riled up. "It had already stopped bleeding by the time he got home, nor did it require any stitches."

Bruce was examining the bandage as the doctor spoke, but refrained from taking the gauze off so that he could see for himself. One of his hands slid up Dick's other arm next; his fingers lightly brushing over the dark bruise.

"And here?" His voice was sharp. "This looks painful. Shouldn't he have X-rays? How can you tell that there isn't something broken?"

Leslie smiled at the younger man's obvious worry. "I think Richard would have mentioned it had anything been broken. He's sore, and will be for a few days, but he has full range of motion, and no sharp pain to speak of . . . He's only bruised it, Bruce."

Bruce was frowning. He looked up at Dick. "Are you okay, Dickie? You don't have to be brave for us. It's okay to tell us if you're hurting." He glared at Leslie. "Did you give him anything for pain?"

The doctor looked like she wanted to laugh, but seemed to come to her senses. "I did. It should be kicking in any minute. Now, quite fussing like an old mother hen, and give the boy some room to breathe."

Bruce paused in the process of checking the boy's fingers for more splinters. "Do you _want_ me to stop fussing over you?"

Dick lips twitched into a smile. "You're doing alright," he mumbled, shyly.

Bruce's fussing helped Dick forgive him for not being there as soon as he came home. Surely, he wouldn't be so worried if he didn't really care!

Bruce ruffled the boy's hair. "Hey! I think you forgot something downstairs," he said, lightly. He picked up something off of the floor by his knee and handed it to the boy.

Dick's eyes grew large as he turned the item over in his hands.

His Rubik's Cube!

But he had left it in the Batman's car! He was sure of it . . . At least, he thought he was. Alfred hadn't been holding it because Alfred had been holding him! He had seen Dr. Leslie come into the foyer from the back of the house after Batman had left. She hadn't been holding it either. But Dick had looked around on the table by the door and on the round table with the flower arrangement as soon as he first realized the toy was missing, and he hadn't seen it . . .

He hadn't seen it because it hadn't been there. He looked up at Bruce from the cube in his lap, confused . . . and stared.

There was a cut on the corner of Bruce's mouth . . . His bottom lip was a little swollen and slightly discolored. Just like . . .

Dick shook his head, scowling.

Bruce noticed. "What's the matter, chum? Do you want to lie down a while? Or maybe have something to eat? I know I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast."

Dick's stomach answered for him.

"Oh, I say! My apologies, Master Richard," Alfred exclaimed. "How about I bring up a tray of chicken sandwiches and some hot chocolate for you both? I think that under the circumstances you two can eat up here tonight."

Bruce smiled. "That sounds like it would hit the spot, Alfred. Thanks! Leslie? Would you care to join us?"

Leslie had already picked up her black bag. "No, thank you, gentlemen. I ate with Alfred earlier. It's time I head home. I can show myself to the door, thank you, Alfred. Bruce, if either of you need me for anything in the morning, you can call the clinic."

"How about I at least walk you down the stairs?" Alfred asked. "Since we're heading in the same direction."

"A pleasure, as usual," she smiled. She waved at Dick. "I'm very glad you're home safe, young man. But let's try to avoid anymore carjackings in the future, okay? Doctor's orders!"

Dick waved back at her, distracted. "Thank you, Dr. Leslie, for coming to help."

When the two were alone, Bruce pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.

"Are you sure you're alright? Is there anything you want to tell me?" He asked.

Dick turned the Rubik's Cube over in his hands. He had only gotten the red and green sides completed. He had never even had the chance to try for a third side today. He had lost it until Batman had returned it to him . . . and now, Bruce.

"You know, Uncle Jack . . . Um, that's Mr. Haley, the circus owner," Dick clarified; repeating part of the story he had told to Alfred that morning. "He gave me this last summer."

"I see," Bruce murmured. "Well, I'm glad you didn't lose it, then."

Dick looked up sharply, and sucked in his breath. Now that the idea had begun, it grew roots.

"It's _you_ ," he gasped.

Bruce frowned at him. "What do you mean? Of course, it's me! Who else would I be?" He ruffled the boy's hair again. "Let's get your pajama top on you while we're waiting for Alfred."

Dick slapped his hand down on the top where it lay beside him. That's why Bruce wasn't there when he arrived! He had to go change clothes and come back!

Bruce looked up at him, confused. "What's wrong, chum?"

"It's _you_ , isn't it?" It wasn't really a question.

Bruce was silent for a moment. His smile wavered slightly. "I thought we established that already."

"You're _**him**_!"

The smile fell away. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't like the way that Dick was staring at him.

" _ **That's**_ why you disappear every night," Dick continued; something like awe shone in his face.

"Dick . . . I'm not sure where you're going with this, but it's obvious that you've had a very trying day. You're tired . . ."

Dick interrupted him. "That's why you took me in, too, isn't it?"

"What?"

"To help me!"

Bruce sighed and smiled once more. "Of course I wanted to help you. So did Alfred."

Dick was shaking his head. "But you _**have**_! Been helping me, I mean, haven't you? . . . All this time!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, chum. Maybe you better lie down, and we can discuss whatever you want in the morning," Bruce told him.

He started to rise when Dick stopped him. He slid off of the side of the bed, stepped between Bruce's knees, and looked the man directly in the eyes.

" _ **You**._ _ **Are**._ _**Batman**._ " Dick covered Bruce's mouth when he started to deny it. "You are Batman," he repeated confidently. "You **_are_**!"

Bruce grasped Dick hand and lowered. "Dick . . ."

"You are," the boy insisted firmly.

Bruce sighed. The boy _knew_ . . . Bruce knew the child was clever, but this . . . Most people's memories and observation skills during times of crisis were often faulty and unreliable. He had never expected the boy to able to put together the clues and come up with the truth!

Alfred entered the room at that point; setting down the tray on the dresser. He stopped as soon as he saw their faces. Something was up.

Dick looked at him. "Did you know?" He didn't give Alfred time to answer. "You _did_! You _had_ to have known! You know _everything_!"

"Oh dear . . ." Alfred glanced at Bruce. "Good heavens."

Dick was looking back and forth between them; a slow smile spreading across his face.

"I think we have some things we need to discuss," Bruce blew out his breath.

Dick grinned suddenly. He had them, and they knew it.

Bruce scowled at him, but he wasn't intimidated in the least.

"Inconceivable," Bruce muttered, not even bothering to deny anything at this point. The boy knew . . .

Dick crawled back onto the bed and crossed his arms stubbornly.

"So," Dick's grin turned smug. "What do you think? Could you use a little help?"

* * *

 **REACTIONS?**

 **So, this is how it _really_ happened . . . ;D Don't forget to review and tell me what you thought of this! If you love it - Please add it to your favorites!**

 **The link doesn't show up well, so, you can find one of my inspirations for Dick's Parkour/Freerunning scenes by typing:** High level of Parkour & Freerunning | RUSSIA 2014 **in the search space on YouTube.**


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